ee ey 


en 





LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
PRINCETON, N. J. 


PRESENTED BY 


Lietoaealcy NM). Robinson, D-D., See'y. 
Division... LF / fA f 
PN oe feo es &, 


ae od 








International Library of Psychology 
Philosophy and Scientific Method 


The 
Growth of the Mind 


International Library of Psychology 
Philosophy and Scientific Method . 


GENERAL EDITOR C. K. OGDEN, M.A. (A/agdalen College, Cambridge) 
PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES by G. E. Moorg, Litt.D. 


THE MISUSE OF MIND 

CONFLICT AND DREAM 
PSYCHOLOGY AND POLITICS . 
MEDICINE, MAGIC AND RELIGION 
PSYCHOLOGY AND ETHNOLOGY 
TRACTATUS LOGICO-PHILOSOPHICUS 
THE MEASUREMENT OF EMOTION 
PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPES . ci 
SCIENTIFIC METHOD r 
SCIENTIFIC THOUGHT 

MIND AND ITS PLACE IN NATURE 
THE MEANING OF MEANING. 
CHARACTER AND THE UNCONSCIOUS 
INDIVIDUAL PSYCHOLOGY ; ‘ 4 
CHANCE, LOVE AND LOGIC . : A 
SPECULATIONS (Preface by Jacob Epstein) 
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF REASONING 
BIOLOGICAL MEMORY 

THE PHILOSOPHY OF ‘AS IF’ 

THE NATURE OF LAUGHTER 

THE NATURE OF INTELLIGENCE . 
TELEPATHY AND CLAIRVOYANCE . 

THE GROWTH OF THE MIND 

THE MENTALITY OF APES 

PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGIOUS Mysticism 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF MUSIC 

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A MUSICAL PRODIGY 
THE EFFECTS OF MUSIC 

PRINCIPLES OF LITERARY CRITICISM 


METAPHYSICAL FOUNDATIONS OF SCIENCE 


COLOUR-BLINDNESS 

THOUGHT AND THE BRAIN 
PHYSIQUE AND CHARACTER . 
PSYCHOLOGY OF EMOTION 
PROBLEMS OF PERSONALITY: 
PSYCHE i . 
PSYCHOLOGY OF TIME : 
THE HISTORY OF MATERIALISM 
EMOTION AND INSANITY 
PERSONALITY . 

NEUROTIC PERSONALITY 
EDUCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY 


LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT OF THE CHILD . : 


CRIME AND CUSTOM IN SAVAGE SOCIETY 
SEX AND REPRESSION IN SAVAGE SOCIETY 
COMPARATIVE PHILOSOPHY 

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF CHARACTER 
SOCIAL LIFE IN THE ANIMAL WORLD. 
THEORETICAL BIOLOGY . , 
POSSIBILITY 

DIALECTIC 

POLITICAL PLURALISM 

SOCIAL BASIS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 
THE ANALYSIS OF MATTER . 
PROBLEMS IN PSYCHOPATHOLOGY 


THE LAWS OF FEELING ‘ ; 
STATISTICAL METHOD IN ECONOMICS , 


INSECT SOCIETIES 

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
A HISTORY OF MODERN PSYCHOLOGY. 
JUDGMENT AND REASON OF THE CHILD 
COLOUR AND COLOUR THEORIES . 
PLATO’S THEORY OF ETHICS , : 
THE TECHNIQUE OF CONTROVERSY . 
THE SYMBOLIC PROCESS : : F 


VobyCl 


by KARIN STEPHEN 


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G. JUNG, M.D., LL.D. 
: by A. D. RITCHIE 


by C. D. BROAD, Litt. D. 
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me LOY: REVESZ 
edited by MAx SCHOEN 
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: by ERNST KRETSCHMER 
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by J. F. MARKEY, Ph.D. 


OF PRINAE 


UR OCT 17 192: 
The > 
Woe 


Growth of the Min 


An Introduction to Child-Psychology 






eat sews 


By” 
KURT Serra 


University of Giessen 


Translated by 
ROBERT MORRIS OGDEN 


Cornell University 


Fa 


NEW YORK 
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. 
LONDON: KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD. 
977 


First Edition 5 ‘ . November 1924 
Second Edition . : ; . September 1925 
Second Impression November 1927 


” 


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY 
THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND II YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH 


TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 


THE hypothesis of the Gestalt-Psychologie, which the 
Author has here employed in elucidating the 
problems of childhood and mental growth, is for 
the most part new to English readers. Yet the 
Author’s skill in executing his task, and his mastery 
of the results thus far achieved by experimental . 
work in the field of child-psychology, have been so | 
happily combined as to ensure a lively interest in 
his book. It is therefore gratifying to me, person- 
ally, to have been instrumental in making the 
book available to English and American students 
of Educational Psychology. Not only are many 
obscure points in educational theory and practice 
clarified by the fresh treatment they have received 
at the hands of the Author, but many attractive 
lines of investigation are suggested which students 
of Experimental Education will not be slow to 
seize upon. 

In presenting the volume to English readers I 
desire to acknowledge the debt I owe my colla- 
borators, Mr Arthur W. Gilbert, Mr Desmond S. 
Powell, and Dr Seth Wakeman, for without their 
willing co-operation it would have been impossible 
for me to undertake the task of translation. 


ROBERT MORRIS OGDEN 


IrHaca, March 21, 1924 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I: PROBLEM AND METHOD 


§ I. 
§ 2. 


§ 3. 


§ 4. 


§ 5. 


§ 6. 
§ 7. 


“§8. 


§ 9. 


§ 1. 


The Concept of Development in Psychology 


A Provisional Consideration of the Problem of 
Psychology as applied to Child- Psychology. 
Mother and Child. Points of View “ from 
within ”’ and “‘ from without ”’ 


Functional and Descriptive Concepts. Naturai- 
Scientific and Experiential Observations. The 
“ Descriptive ’’ Side of Behaviour 


The Psychology of the Behaviourist. Criteria 
of Consciousness 


A Denial of the Behaviourist’ s Point of View. 
The Significance of Descriptive Behaviour for 
Physiological Theory . : 
Consciousness and the Nervous System 
Division of the Psychological Methods 
1. The Natural-Scientific Method 
2. The Psycho-Physical Method ; 
(a2) Emphasis on the Descriptive Side . 
(b) Emphasis on the Functional Side 
3. The Purely Psychological Method 
Methods in Child-Psychology . 
1. Diaries . } 
2. Occasional Obeeeancns 
3. Experiment 


Books on Child-Psychology 

CHAPTER II: GENERAL FACTS AND POINTS OF 
VIEW . ; : - 
Maturation and Learning 
The Function of Infancy . : ° 


3-2. 


Vii 


~ 


PAGE 


§ 3. 


§ 4. 


§ 5. 
§ 6. 


4 


CONTENTS 


Parallels in Developmental History 
1. The Theory of Recapitulation 
2. The Theory of Utility 
3. The Theory of Correspondence 


The Tempo and Rhythm of Development 
Heredity and Environment 


Mental and Bodily Development 
(a) New Brain Functions accompany the 
Appearance of New Brain Parts 
(b) The ‘‘ New” Brain increases at the 
Expense of the “ Old ”’ Brain 


CHAPTER III: THE STARTING-POINT OF DEVELOP- 


§ 6. 


§ 7. 


§ 8. 


MENT; THE NEW-BORN INFANT AND PRIMI- 
TIVE MODES OF DEVELOPMENT 


. A First Survey of Behaviour. Physiologica 


Correspondences 


. Is the New-Born Infant a Parely co Old- Brain ”’ 


Type of Being ? 


. Impulsive Movements 
. The Reflex-System 
. The Reflexes of New-Born There 


(a) Eye-Reflexes 
(0) EKar-Reflexes 
(c) Skin-Reflexes 


The Suckling Instinct, and the: Primary chase 
teristics of Instinctive Movement 

(2) Movement depends on Stimulus 

(0) Differences of Stimulus-Complex 

(c) Influence of Organic States 


Instincts as Chained Reflexes. Thorndike’s 
Theory 
AContribution to the Theory of Instinct, Look- 
ing towards an Abandonment of the Alternative 
Views of Mechanism and Vitalism. Instincts 
and Reflexes . 

I. Continuity 

2. Activity : : 

3. Control by Sense- -Organ . : 

Vili 


CONTENTS 


§9. The Instincts of New-born Infants, with some 
General Remarks upon the Instincts of Man . 
§ 10. Expressive Movements 
§ 11. The Sensitivity of Infants 
I. The Senses of the Skin 
I. Touch 
2. Temperature 
3. Pain 
II. The Chemical Senses aad Sight . 
I. Taste 
2. Smell 
3. Vision 
III. Audition 
§ 12. Dispositional Plasticity 


/§13. The Infant’s Phenomenal Experience. 
Methodological Considerations with Respect 
to the Question of Consciousness, and the 
Phenomena of Mental Configurations . 


1. Paucity of Infantile Phenomena . 
2. Complexity of Stimuli 


3. Argument against the Mosaic Conception 
of Consciousness 


4. Proof that Simple Configurations are 
Primitive ° . 


CHAPTER IV: SPECIAL FEATURES OF MENTAL 
GROWTH é ; 


A. General Statement of the Problem. How New 
Types of Behaviour are Learned . 
§ 1. Four Ways in which the Mind Grows . 
1. Motor Development 
2. Sensory Development . ° 
3. Sensori-Motor Development 
4. Ideational Development . 


§ 2. Maturation and Learning. The Problem of 
Memory and the Problem of Achievement in 
Learning : 

ix 


PAGE 


109g 
II5 
Ig 
120 
120 
120 
120 
120 
120 
I2I 
121 
I2I 
122 


125 
133 
133 


136 


137 


143 


143 
143 
143 
144 
145 
148 


150 


§ 3. 


§ 4. 


$5: 
§ 6. 


$7. 


§ 8. 
§ 9. 


CONTENTS 


The Principle of Trial and Error. Thorndike’s: 


Investigations and the Mechanistic A ReRS of 
Learning 


Thorndike’s Poets criticized by ake 
that the Behaviour of his Animals was not 
Altogether Stupid 


Ruger’s Comparative Tests on Human Beings. 


Intelligent Learning. Kdhler’s Seas 
with Chimpanzees 


Other ened oa placed ens) Kohler’s 
Experiments . 


Criticism of Kéhler’s Beene 


Bihler’s Stages of Development and the 
Principle of Configuration 


CHAPTER V: SPECIAL FEATURES OF MENTAL 


GROWTH 


B. The Problem of Memory. The e-Learning of 


Sl. 


Children 


The Function of Memory and its First 
Appearance : ° . : 


. The Laws of Memory . . 
. Motor Learning. The Parts ase by 


Maturation and Learning in Walking . 


. Continuation. Grasping and beet Wittoe 


Configurations 


. Sensory Learning. The Development of Chine 


Vision 


A. Methods piles ts tyeones 
1. The Word-Sign-Method 
2. The Naming-Method 
3. The Symbolic Method 
B. Methods without Linguistic Aid. 
I. The Method of Arrangement 
(a2) By Names ; 
(0) By Samples 
2. The Method of Preference 
3. The Method of Training 


x 


PAGE 


CONTENTS 


§ 6. Continuation. Spatial Factors : . 
§ 7. Continuation. The Categories of Perception . 


§ 8. Sensori-Motor Learning. The First Achieve- 
ments of Training and Intelligence . 


§g. Continuation. The Problem of Imitation 


§ 10. Ideational Learning. The First Use of 
Language and its Problems ‘ : 


1. Names as Inventions 


2. Extension of the ars, of Application of at 
Names 


3. New Ente tions 
§ rz. Continuation. Number-Configurations 


CHAPTER VI: THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


NOTES 

List of Books 

Notes to Chapter I 

Notes to Chapter II . 

Notes to Chapter III 

Notes to Chapter IV. 

Notes to Chapter V . 

Notes to Chapter VI. 

Index : 





MAB MRE LOUSY 124 oo vt sh Od ite Be 
PONG Lie DOLD LON 


WHEN I was invited to write a new treatise upon 
the Psychology of Childhood, the aim of the book, 
as it developed in my mind, was twofold. In the 
first place, I felt that I might be able to give a new 
and wider application to certain principles of psycho- 
logical theory and research which have recently been 
advanced under the name of the Gestalt-Theorie, and 
thus might demonstrate their significance in the 
interpretation of childhood. In the second place, it 
was my belief that the teachers in the German 
elementary schools, for whom the book was intended, 
were in need of a psychology both modern and alive 
to the problems of the Educator. I believed it of 
urgent necessity that the psychological instruction 
usually given to teachers should be so modified as 
to set aside certain antiquated notions which, instead 
of promoting educational aims, often pervert them 
to such an extent that psychology is apt to become 
totally disregarded in educational circles. I was 
bold enough to believe that our new psychological 
principles would also serve this useful purpose. 

And hence what I have tried to write is not so 
much a compendium of facts as an exposition of 
principles. In short, I have tried to work out some 
of the chief principles of genetic or comparative 
psychology, laying special emphasis upon the evolu- 

xiii 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE 


tion of the child’s mind. By keeping this object in 
view I hoped to avoid a rivalry with two other recent 
works upon Child- Psychology which have been 
written by William Stern and Karl Biihler. 

But I have addressed myself not to teachers alone, 
but also to my scientific colleagues, and to all 
students of psychology. In so doing I have not 
always found it easy to satisfy the claims of any one 
group of readers. To some the book will in many 
places seem too elementary, while to others certain 
passages, at least, will seem much too difficult. The 
first objection may be readily overcome by simply 
skipping the elementary passages. But the second 
is not so readily set aside; for true scientific 
knowledge can not be taken in like a spoonful of 
honey ; it can be acquired only by intellectual effort, 
just as science itself is advanced only by strenuous 
research. For this reason a mere collection of 
scientific facts is never a true presentation of the 
scientific spirit and insight. To obtain these one 
must comprehend how the facts have been discovered, 
and what position they occupy in the comprehensive 
system of scientific knowledge. The principles upon 
which this knowledge rests should therefore he 
treated exhaustively, even though, in the end, they 
should have to be given up as false or barren; for 
otherwise the reader would not know why these 
principles can not persist, wherein their weakness 
lies, and how the explanation of the facts can now 
be bettered. In writing this book nothing has been 
further from my thought than a wish to engage in 
polemic for its own sake. The criticism of divergent 
opinions has been undertaken solely in order that 


the reader might become acquainted at first hand 
Xiv 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE 


with the way a science like psychology has grown 
and is growing. Every science grows amidst a lively 
conflict as to the precise nature of its foundations, 
and in this struggle the book before you is intended 
to take its place. 

I have adopted the plan of gathering all the notes 
together at the end of the book, so that the text 
might have a rounded form, and also that the reader 
might not be disturbed in following the train of 
thought. The notes comprise a series of supple- 
mentary comments in addition to the textual refer- 
ences therein contained. 

Though I have made but little use of abbreviations, 
I may here remark that to indicate age I have 
employed the method suggested by the Sterns in 
1907, which has since come into general use: for 
example, 2°10 means the age of 2 years and 
10 months. 

The text and notes will give evidence of the 
unusual debt I owe to the available works on child- 
psychology. But since it is impossible to refer 
specifically to the source of every inspiration that 
has come to me, I wish here to make general 
acknowledgment of my indebtedness. 

The translation of the book, for which I am 
greatly indebted to my friend Professor R. M. 
Ogden of Cornell University, was a difficult task 
because of the new terminology employed, for 
which English equivalents had to be coined. The 
difficulty was increased by the fact that one of the 
chief terms employed, namely, Struktur, could not 
be retained as ‘‘structure,”’ since, as a result of the 
controversy between structuralism and functionalism, 


this term has a very definite and quite different 
XV 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE 


meaning in English and American psychology. 
For want of a better term, we have chosen to follow 
a suggestion originally made by Professor E. B. 
Titchener, and have translated Sztruktur as ‘‘con- 
figuration,” although I can not say that it has 
completely satisfied me. This, however, is but one 
of the many difficulties which have confronted the 
translator. 

Since the publication of the German edition 
several important contributions to the topics treated 
in the book have either appeared in print or come for 
the first time to my hands. This new material I 
have endeavoured to work into the text so far as 
time has permitted. 

KURT KOFFKA 


GIESSEN, October 18, 1924 


xvi 


THE GROWTH OF THE MIND 


CHAPTER I 
PROBLEM AND METHOD 


§ 1—The Concept of Development in Psychology 


WHEN we set out to make a psychological study of 
the world in which we live, we continually come upon 
facts that can be understood only after we conceive 
them as products of evolution. For a long time 
psychological theory was dominated by the question; 
How much of any observed fact can be explained as a 
process of development? And even to-day no agree- 
ment has been reached between the rival theories of 
empiricism and nativism, the first of which emphasizes 
the influence of environment, and the second the 
influence of heredity. With this situation before us it 
is surprising to learn—though historically not difficult 
to understand—that psychology—and German psy- 
chology in particular—has made so little use of the 
general principles of development. Indeed, from the 
point of view of experience, the problem of development 
has been dealt with in a very specialized way, which 
is mechamstic rather than truly biological. This period 
seems, however, to be drawing to a close; for the need 
is now felt of introducing the facts of psychology into 
a larger sphere, embracing other facts of life, from 
which our science has already departed too far. We 
must therefore try to envisage the problems of mental 
growth as they really are; we must seek to under- 
stand the peculiarities of mental evolution, and must 
endeavour to discover its laws. 
r A 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


In the accomplishment of this task we should not 
forget that the subject of a psychological investigation 
is usually the mature and cultured “West European” 
type of man; a living being—biologically considered— 
at the highest level of development. In the first place, 
we are dealing with the human being as opposed to 
the animal. Since Darwin’s time, the conception of 
the descent of man has become common property, and 
we assume that what is valid in morphology and phy- 
siology must also have its significance in psychology. 
In the second place, we are dealing with representatives 
of a highly differentiated, as opposed to the members 
of a primitive, civilization. The world appears other- 
wise to us than it does to a negro in Central Africa, 
and otherwise than it did to Homer. We speak a 
different language from each of these, and this difference 
is a fundamental one, inasmuch as a real translation of 
their words into our own is impossible, because the 
categories of thought are different. In the third place, 
we are dealing with the adult as opposed to the child, 
though each of us was once a child, and has become an 
adult only by having outgrown his childhood. 

We must not forget, then, that without a com- 
parative psychology, without animal-, folk-, and child- 
psychology, the experimental psychology of the human 
adult is and must remain defective. For this reason 
the psychology of the human adult has not infrequently 
and in various respects been unable to define its pro- 
blems correctly, to say nothing of arriving at serviceable 
hypotheses. For instance, the error has often been 
committed of trying to explain a fact by merely refer- 
ring to its evolution, thus building up a theory of 
evolution instead of first investigating the facts by com- 
parative methods. Whenever one has had a genetic 
problem to deal with, the danger has always been great 
that one would accept the old hypotheses and apply 
them to his new facts, instead of first giving his facts 
an unprejudiced consideration. 

2 


CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


We might think that in child-psychology the pro- 
cess of development would be obvious to every one; 
for we know the end-product to be an adult, with whom 
experimental psychology can deal, and the origin of 
the adult can be traced continuously from infancy. Yet 
this procedure is not so simple as it might seem ; for 
as a matter of fact there is no principle of mental 
development which we owe directly to child-psychology ! 
and, in so far as child-psychology makes use of any 
principles at all, they have originated either in experi- 
mental or in animal-psychology. And yet there must 
be a genetic psychology; for the child-psychologist 
can follow the growth of a human being who in a 
relatively brief period of time changes from a simple 
inefficient individual into a highly complex and efficient 
man. It ought therefore to be possible to study this 
development in such a way that we can better under- 
stand the product, which is the human adult. Further- 
more, if we could but understand this development, 
we ought to be far better able than we now are to 
promote, to check, and to direct the course of human 
life. 

This, therefore, is our problem: To discover the 
evolutionary principles of child-psychology. But al- 
though we must depend for assistance upon com- 
parative psychology, we must not confine ourselves 
merely to transferring the principles of comparative 
psychology to our own field; instead, we must first 
test the value of these principles, and where necessary 
we must be ready to recast them. 


§2—A Provistonal Consideration of the Problem of 
Psychology as applied to Child- Psychology. 
Mother and Child. Points of View “from 
within” and “from without” 


Let us now try to formulate the problems of child- 
psychology more precisely. As a provisional defini- 


Ss 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


tion of psychology, we may say that its problem is the 
scientific study of the behaviour of living creatures in 
their contact with the outer world. If we apply this 
definition to child-psychology, the thought immediately 
occurs to us that every mother is constantly doing just 
this; for no one knows the child so well, or under- 
stands his reactions and his impulses so thoroughly, as 
does his mother, by virtue of her unique and intimate 
relation to him. What need, then, of a child-psycho- 
logy, if every mother knows her child better than the 
wisest psychologist can ever hope toknow him? With- 
out disputing this assumption the fact remains that 
psychology is scientific knowledge, in that it employs 
a method which brings knowledge into conceptually 
formulated propositions. Psychology must have definite 
concepts; its statements are not made about “Infant 
X” or “Infant Y”, but rather about those features of 
babyhood common to all ordinary infants. The mother 
may know that her child is now in such and such a 
mood, that he desires this, that in giving utterance to 
a certain sound he means a certain thing, etc.; but she 
can not transcribe her knowledge in scientific terms. In 
the first place, she usually knows nothing about scientific 
terms; and, as we shall soon see, if we wish to secure 
scientific knowledge a different attitude is requisite from 
that which the mother finds most natural. In order to 
become a scientist the mother must suddenly become 
an “observer”; she must tear herself away from the 
intimate relation in which she lives with her child, so 
that she may replace each intuitive bit of knowledge— 
unreasoned, though undoubtedly certain—by a critical 
analysis of the facts. She must, therefore, learn to 
distinguish her interpretation from the simple facts of 
the behaviour itself. But this implies that she must 
maintain a “distance” from her child, and must, at 
least during the period of any scientific observation, cut 
herself off from the intimacy of her maternal relation- 
ship with him. Mothers are naturally unsympathetic 


4 


CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


towards this procedure, and have, indeed, a primitive 
disinclination to allow their children to be thus prac- 
tised upon by others. They can therefore be readily 
brought to oppose child-psychology in the fear that 
such observations and investigations may harm their 
children. On similar grounds an artist will often refuse 
to discuss the technique of his art. The mother has, of 
course, a right to protect her child from any injury that 
science might inflict, and in so doing she not only 
safeguards her child, but science as well; for an inves- 
tigation which can injure the mental development of 
a child must almost certainly be a wrong method of 
securing psychological knowledge. If one could re- 
assure the mother on this point, much of her hesitation 
would disappear. Many mothers could even be won 
over to child-psychology, if it were made clear to them 
that they might thus benefit their children ; for although 
the mother’s knowledge is intimate, it is, for the most 
part, a momentary knowledge, and if psychology could 
impart a knowledge of the chief characteristics of 
development, the mother would be far better able to 
guide and watch over her child. 

Furthermore, if the mother can be reconciled to child- 
psychology she can render an invaluable service. We 
have already pictured the procedure of the scientific 
worker in contrast with that of the mother; we must 
now emphasize the disadvantages of the scientist when 
he proceeds alone. The scientist has his ready-made 
concepts with the aid of which he seeks to understand 
the facts as he observes them. From the outset his 
gaze is directed through spectacles fitted to his scientific 
view. Yet who knows but these glasses may be 
coloured, or else ground so as to produce a badly dis- 
torted image? To give a concrete example: Since the 
child-psychologist has a genetic interest, he is inclined 
to regard each childlike expression, from an adult point 
of view, as an incomplete or preliminary step in the 
direction of a later and more mature end. Yet this 


5 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


view fails to note the individual significance of the child’s 
expression fer sé, which can not be seen at all through 
such glasses. Here the mother can and must assist. 
She knows her child from immediate personal ex- 
perience, without preconceptions; she knows him and 
loves him as he appears to her at the time, nor does 
she ever try to think of her suckling babe as an im- 
mature student of life. Each of the child’s stages in 
life is of equal worth and importance to her, and she 
tries to understand each one of them in the same un- 
prejudiced way. If she is successful in making her 
immediate knowledge available to others, she will have 
rendered the investigator a service not otherwise to be 
had ; for she is able to furnish first-hand material which 
no scientific observer can obtain. This, to be sure, is a 
difficult task; for in its accomplishment she must bea 
good psychologist in the common-sense meaning of the 
word, just as a poet must be a good psychologist. Yet 
the mother need not necessarily exchange her attitude 
for the objective point of view of the scientist. If 
she is capable of thus uniting the two points of view, 
she is indeed a true child-psychologist, since both 
attitudes constantly promote and supplement each other. 
In order to understand the behaviour of a child in his 
contacts with his surroundings, one must undertake a 
great deal of troublesome special study, involving de- 
tachment and a thoroughly critical attitude of mind. In 
this way it is possible to arrive at a view of the child 
“from without”; but we must not forget that every act 
of behaviour is the expression of an individual, depend- 
ing more or less upon his entire constitution, and that 
we never can understand his behaviour completely 
unless we know him as a whole. In order to com- 
prehend him thus, we must assume a different point of 
view, because a true knowledge of child-life can only 
be derived “from within.” The reciprocal supplementa- 
tion and furtherance of understanding supplied by these 
two considerations, “from within” and “from without,” 


6 


EXPERIENTIAL OBSERVATION 


may perhaps be expressed half-paradoxically in this 
way: In order to understand the child, we must know 
his reactions; but in order to understand his reactions, 
we must also know the child. 


§ 3—Vfunctional and Descriptive Concepts. Natural- 
Scientific and Experiential Observations. The 
“ Descriptive” Side of Behaviour 


We can now go a step further, and raise the question : 
What is this point of view “from without”? This 
brings us to the problem of psychological method. 

When we describe the behaviour of mankind, we use 
two quite different kinds of concepts. The difference can 
be made clear by a few simple, commonplace examples. 
I observe a wood-chopper, and find that the perform- 
ance of his task gradually decreases without his giving 
me any impression of indolence. I can control this 
observation by determining how many blocks he splits 
in a minute, and from this I find that as the time is 
prolonged the number decreases. I attribute this pheno- 
menon, this decrease in his efficiency, to fatigue. 

Or, to take another example, I see a stranger lose 
something in the street, and I recover it for him. Next 
day I meet him again, and he greets me; that is, 
he reacts towards me otherwise to-day than he did 
yesterday, apparently as a consequence of yesterday’s 
occurrence. I therefore say that he has recognized me, 
and IJ refer this fact to his memory. 

Any one can reach these two conclusions concerning 
fatigue and the operations of memory who is able to 
observe these situations, for this is the general charac- 
teristic of a class of concepts where in any given case 
any one to whom the factual material is available will 
be able to decide whether a certain concept of the class 
is appropriate or not. We call this class of concepts 
functional concepts, and they are of the same kind as all 
natural-scientific concepts. 


7 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


In order to acquaint ourselves with the second class 
of concepts we may again refer to our two examples. 
Whereas in the first example either I or any one else 
can determine the fatigue of the wood-chopper by his 
decreased efficiency, the wood-chopper himself is able 
to make quite a different observation. He may find, 
for instance, that at the beginning of his work, “It went 
easy,” and that later “It went hard.” Or he may say: 
“ At first I felt fresh, but now at the end I feel tired.” 
Likewise, the man who greets me in the street, thus 
leading me or any one else present to infer an operation 
of his memory, may express himself by saying, “ Your 
face, which yesterday was strange to me, now looks 
familiar.” 

These expressions attributed to the wood-chopper 
and to the man in the street are quite different in 
content, yet in contrast with observations of the first 
sort, made with the help of functional concepts, they 
have this in common, that the report of the wood- 
chopper can be made only by the wood-chopper, and 
the remark of the man in the street only by himself. 
No substitution is possible, for no one but the wood- 
chopper can say whether the work is tiring him or not, 
and no one but the man in the street can decide 
whether my features are familiar to him. 

Facts which any one can determine are called actual 
or real things or processes. For instance, that the 
wood-chopper becomes fatigued, or that the person to 
whom I was yesterday a stranger now greets me, these 
are veal processes. But we must also introduce a term 
for those facts which can be established only by a single 
person; these we shall call experiences, or phenomena. 
In order to define veal processes we shall use functional 
concepts, whereas the concepts we apply to experiences 
we shall call descriptive concepts. In our examples we 
have employed the descriptive concepts “ feeling fresh,” 
“feeling tired,” “strange,” and “familiar.” We can also 
refer to the experience of freshness, of fatigue, of 


EXPERIENTIAL OBSERVATION 


familiarity, of strangeness, or, to introduce a much-used 
word, the zmpresszon of any of these. 

The consideration of this point may be carried a 
step further, because it is of especial importance to 
an understanding of psychology. To some, what has 
been said will seem obvious. Naturally, no one can get 
out of his own skin into the skin of another; my tooth- 
ache does not hurt my neighbour, however much I 
might wish it upon him. But it may be remarked by 
others that there is something quite artificial in all this 
discussion, for if any one greets me he must, of course, 
know me, and I can readily assure myself of this with- 
out hearing what he has to say about it. In everyday 
life my assurance is that when one laughs he is gay, 
when one weeps he is sorrowful, and I can know aD 
that without his telling me. 

Both parties seem to be right, and yet they contradict 
one another, and so we may infer that perhaps the 
matter is not after all sosimple. Of course it is true 
that in everyday life we act as though we could our- 
selves determine what kind of experiences another 
person is having, but we must not forget that in so 
doing we often fall into error, and sometimes are de- 
ceived by impostors. A person may weep, and arouse 
our sympathy, when the real cause of his weeping is not 
sorrow but the onions he has just eaten. With certainty 
all we-are able to determine is the fact of his tears, but 
not how he may feel about them. Turning to our 
examples, if the man in the street greets me to-day he 
must have recognized me, provided that one means by 
recognition a functional concept, a term to express a 
certain operation of his memory. But that I appeared 
to him as some one he knew, who looked familiar to 
him, is a thing I can not be sure of from the mere fact 
of his greeting me; because it is also possible that, 
sunk in thought, or deep in conversation, he may have 
greeted me quite “automatically.” Whether or not this 
was the case, he alone can say. Likewise in our first 


9 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


example, the investigation of the facts of fatigue has 
taught us that actual fatigue and “feeling tired” do not 
need to run parallel.?~ And hence we must differentiate 
the two classes of functional and descriptive concepts 
according to the criteria of their application. For the 
first kind, any one, but for the second, only one person 
is in a position to decide whether the application ina 
certain instance is right or wrong. 

We remarked above that functional conceptions are of 
the same sort as any other concepts of natural science. 
On the other hand descriptive concepts are a unique 
characteristic of psychology. We noted tentatively 
that the problem of psychology was the study of the 
behaviour of living beings in contact with their sur- 
roundings. Having discovered that psychology employs 
not only functional concepts, but also the specifically 
psychological descriptive concepts, we can now make 
this definition more precise. Limiting ourselves for the 
present to the behaviour of mankind, we can attribute 
to it not only whatever may be determined with the 
aid of functional concepts, but also the fact that man 
can make reports of a “descriptive” nature; that man 
has experiences—or, as we commonly say, that man 
has a consciousness. This attribution implies, not 
merely that man can make these reports on his ex- 
perience, but also the kind of reports he makes, and 
the nature of the experiences he has. And this side of 
behaviour is no less important than the other; to 
psychology, it is, indeed, of the utmost significance; 
because of the fact already emphasized, that the posses- 
sion of descriptive concepts constitutes the peculiarity of 
this science. When the psychologist studies behaviour 
he always does so with reference to its descriptive side, 
in contrast, for instance, to the physiologist, who for 
the most part does not bother himself with anything 
but the functional aspects of behaviour. 

Along with the natural-scientific methods of investi- 


gation, psychology has, therefore, a method of observa- 
Io 


EXPERIENTIAL OBSERVATION 


tion all its own, dealing, not with the determination of 
real things and processes, but with experiences. We 
shall refer to this method as experiential observation, or 
perception, and thus avoid the commonly used, though 
unfortunately chosen, terms: “inner perception” and 
“introspection.” To enter at this juncture on the very 
important but controversial problem of the perception 
of experience would be too much of a digression,’ yet 
it should be noted that the method of perceiving experi- 
ence is something that has to be learned and practised 
to an even higher degree than any other kind of scientific 
observation. 

As to the relative nature of these two kinds of observa- 
tion a few words will be appropriate. The best means 
of investigating facts with the aid of functional concepts 
are measure and number, mensuration and calculation 
can be understood or learned by any one. The con- 
cepts of the most highly developed natural science, 
Physics, are for this reason, quantitative concepts. 
Physical reports are always quantified, and it is the 
ideal of Physics to reduce all qualitative to quantitative 
differences. 

The same can not be said of the facts of description, 
that is, of experience; for measurement is a typically 
functional method. Measuring with a scale supplies 
data that can be attained by any one. But in this sense 
experiences are not mensurable. Being only qualities 
they are at the opposite pole from the objects of pure 
Physics. The quantitative, in a natural sense, is alto- 
gether lacking in them.* Indeed this is the reason why 
the word “quality” is so often applied in psychology as 
though it were synonymous with “experience.” 

The results of these considerations may be summarized 
as follows: In addition to the natural-scientific method, 
psychology makes use of a form of observation peculiarly 
its own, namely, experiential observation, for the objects 
of psychology embrace not only real things and processes, 


but also experiences.® 
II 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


§ 4—The Psychology of the Behaviourist. Criteria 
of Consciousness 


In opposition to this conception of psychology loud 
voices have latterly been raised, notably in America, 
where a tendency has arisen to set aside the differentia- 
tion which our theory of psychology accepts. It is the 
tendency to maintain that psychology is a natural science 
like any other, and, therefore, has no justification for 
the use of any peculiar method or of any distinctive facts. 
Consequently experiential observation and all descriptive 
concepts are banned, leaving only the functional concepts 
which are subject to general control. Behaviour being 
merely that which any one can observe and report of 
an individual, the psychologist need concern himself 
only with those reactions of an individual which can be 
determined by any one. The observation of experience 
affords no real data, because it can not be controlled ; 
a conclusion which seems to gain support from a wider 
view when the behaviourist insists that, biologically 
considered, man can not be separated from other living 
beings. And is it not, indeed, an error that traditional 
psychology should tend to concern itself exclusively 
with adult human beings, thus giving them a peculiar 
status, whereas man is but one of the many possible and 
equally important subjects of psychological investiga- 
tion? In animal-psychology one must necessarily do 
without descriptive concepts ; for, since the animals are 
unable to communicate with us, no criteria of this sort 
can there be employed. Likewise in the psychology of 
early childhood, we can do no more than determine 
how the infant behaves under definite conditions. All 
else being uncontrollable must, therefore, be unscientific 
fantasy. If then normal psychology has no right to 
claim special privileges, it follows that we must limit 
ourselves to real facts, and translate the results of 
psychology from the older terms of conscious contents 
into the newer terms of behaviour. This means that, 

I2 


THE BEHAVIOURIST PSYCHOLOGY 


instead of reporting about experience, we may only 
admit reports about behaviour in certain situations 
where both the behaviour and the situation can be 
controlled by natural-scientific methods. 

The advocates of this view call themselves Behaviour- 
zsts, and, instead of psychology, they speak of the Science 
of Animal Behaviour or the Science of the Behaviour of 
Organisms. Since it is our purpose to treat also of 
Comparative Psychology, we must face this issue at 
once. In one important point the behaviourists are 
undoubtedly right. As soon as we leave the normal 
field of human adult psychology, the method of experi- 
ential observation has to be abandoned, and so long as 
we maintain a point of view “from without,” we shall 
have no criteria of experience, nor any use for descriptive 
concepts. The mother may be ever so sure that her 
smiling baby is in a state of contentment; she may be 
able to read ever so clearly the beaming happiness in 
its face, but from an objective point of view these 
phenomena are uncontrollable. Whether science should 
abandon these reports altogether is, however, quite 
another question, and one to which we shall presently 
return. Speaking strictly from an objective point of 
view, the behaviourist is right, and the principle is sound, 
that outside of adult psychology there are no criteria for 
the existence of consciousness.® 

And yet attempts have often been made to find such 
criteria." Two of the most important are these: First 
it has been said that, so long as the behaviour of living 
beings can be explained in purely physiological terms, 
we should avoid the hypothesis of consciousness ; this 
hypothesis being permissible only in case a purely 
physiological explanation is impossible. From our 
point of view such a procedure would be fundamentally 
false. Quite apart from the fact that there is no per- 
manent criterion for such an inference—since a physio- 
logical explanation which to-day seems impossible may 
to-morrow be accepted—the hypothesis rests upon the 

13 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


fallacy of supposing that a physiological explanation 
can ever be replaced by one of a psychological nature. 
To explain always means to determine the connections 
between, and to formulate the laws applicable to, facts. 
Laws, however, are formule that can be controlled by 
any one; their objects must therefore, in the last 
analysis, be real things and processes. To explain the 
manifest behaviour of an organism by reference to an 
experience which can not be observed by any other 
person is to renounce all explanation in natural-scientific 
terms. We have already shown that, without some 
reservation, it is illegitimate to infer a phenomenal or 
conscious state from facts of a functional order. It is 
equally fallacious to make an inverse inference from 
descriptive phenomena to functional processes, For 
example, in a certain investigation the observer reports 
that during the whole time he has steadily fixated a 
point without moving his eyes. What does this report 
signify to the experimenter? Only that the observer 
has had the same experience as if his eyes had remained 
unmoved ; not, however, that no eye-movements have 
taken place; for whether the eyes have moved or not 
must be determined by the experimenter, and often 
enough he finds that, as a matter of fact, they have.® 

At some point every so-called psychological explana- 
tion contains an inference of this sort. In comparative 
psychology, where experiential observation is lacking, 
fallacious inferences lead also from functional to descrip- 
tive concepts. The facts are easily obscured, because 
our language does not always possess separate words 
for descriptive and functional concepts. Our everyday 
concepts, of course, are not at all scientific. Many typi- 
cally functional concepts are often called mental, and 
one forgets that the everyday meaning of “mental” 
is not what the psychologist means by “ conscious- 
ness.” Intelligence, for instance, is a “mental” term. 
One may say that intelligence is requisite in such and 
such an achievement; and conclude that the animal 

I4 


THE BEHAVIOURIST PSYCHOLOGY 


thus behaving must have been conscious. Here the 
error is quite patent. When one observes a performance 
which merits the term “ intelligent ”»—such, for instance, 
as an appropriate discovery on the part of an animal— 
the inference is clear that the animal must possess a 
capacity for this achievement, and this capacity may 
quite properly be called intelligent. But it does not 
follow that the animal must, therefore, have been con- 
scious of what it was about; nor is it permissible to call 
upon consciousness to furnish the explanation of an 
act of intelligence upon the assumption that this act 
could not otherwise have taken place. One sees the 
disjunction of this argument in the passage from intelli- 
gent behaviour to conscious behaviour. From the facts 
of a certain observed activity I can not with any assur- 
ance infer what experience, if any, may have attached 
to it; and it is altogether without warrant to consider 
experiences as interrupting a chain of veal processes. 
The behaviour of an animal as it takes place is some- » 
thing to be determined as a natural-scientific event. To 
explain this behaviour means to bring it into relation. 
with other similarly conditioned natural-scientific events, 
So many observations must be made, and so many 
experiments performed, as are necessary to furnish the 
foundation for an assured inference, which, in prin- 
ciple at least, is always possible. To assume conscious- 
ness, however, and to refer the animal’s achievement to 
it, is to abandon altogether the grounds of a scientific 
explanation.® 

But the matter takes on quite a different aspect when 
one adopts the following point of view. In order to 
explain the animal’s performance it may be necessary to 
assume brain-processes such as accompany what for us 
human beings are experiences, and by approaching the 
problem in this way it may be possible to justify the 
assumption of consciousness in the animal. At least 
the error is not committed of treating consciousness and 
functional processes on the same level ; for the explana- 


15 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


tion remains in the realm of natural science. It must 
be admitted that we do not know what peculiarity it is 
that distinguishes those brain-processes which correlate 
with consciousness from any others, and hence this line 
of thought does not lead to an actual criterion of con- 
sciousness. But, even so, we may in time be able to 
bridge the gap between human and animal-psychology 
if we continue to work with descriptive concepts in 
human psychology. 

At least it is clear that we can draw no conclusions as 
to a criterion of consciousness by giving up the physio- 
logical explanation of behaviour; and a physiological 
explanation is obviously indicated for every mode of 
behaviour, even where a consciousness of the highest 
order is involved. 

The second attempt which has been made to determine 
the existence of consciousness may be dismissed in a 
few words. It has been said that consciousness may be 
assumed wherever memory is involved in an animal’s 
performance; but here again the fallacy of passing from 
functional to descriptive concepts is found in the same 
form in which we have discussed it with reference to the 
concept of intelligence. 


§5—A Dental of the Behaviourists Pont of View. 
The Significance of Descriptive Behaviour for 
Physiological Theory 


The behaviourist is right in denying the existence of 
conscious criteria wherever the method of experiential 
observation is inapplicable, but in spite of this we shall 
refuse to accept his position, for the simple reason that 
there is a consciousness, reports of which can only be 
made by the experiencing individual, and which is there- 
fore not subject to the control of others. Science can 
not refuse to evaluate factual material of any sort that 
is placed at its disposal. Furthermore what appear to 
be two cases of the same objective behaviour may prove 


16 


DESCRIPTIVE BEHAVIOUR 


to be fundamentally different when the accompanying 
phenomena of consciousness are taken under considera- 
tion. A completely conscious action and an automatic 
action may seem to be identical, yet they may be widely 
different, while acts which are objectively quite different 
may be very similar when one considers the likeness of 
their attendant phenomena, and hence, were we to leave 
experiential observation out of account we should often 
reach false conclusions. If the behaviourist answers 
that some natural-scientific method should be sought in 
investigating these differences, our rejoinder is that we 
are quite ready to leave that task to him; but at the 
same time the remark is permissible that it would never 
have occurred to him to search for such methods, had 
he not first become aware of these differences through 
his own conscious experience. 

Finally, the bare fact that I am able to make a 
descriptive report is one of extraordinary significance. 
To me, it is at least as characteristic as that I breathe, 
or that I digest my food. A stick of wood can not do 
this, neither can an amceba; and when I| am dead I 
shall no longer be able to do it. Were I not able to 
make a descriptive report of my behaviour, I should be 
unable to make any record of it at all. Paradoxically 
-expressed, if one had only the capacity to make such 
responses as others can observe, no one would be able 
to observe anything. 

It is therefore impossible to remove this aspect of 
behaviour from science, not merely because of its 
immanent significance—since whatever we are, and of 
whatever we are proud, our culture, art, and religion, 
would otherwise be incomprehensible—but also because 
of the intimate connection which experience has with 
the objective side of behaviour.° 

The last point needs to be emphasized in order that 
what has been said may not be misunderstood. We 
have declined to accept a psychological explanation, 
and have advocated in its place a thorough-going 

17 B 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


physiological explanation, but we must nevertheless 
insist that our physiological hypotheses shall be appro- 
priate to the complete behaviour of the organism, which 
includes also its experiential aspect. It follows that in 
the construction of functional concepts we must con- 
stantly give heed to the data of experience. Indeed, 
it is so often our first task to secure accurate and 
significant descriptive concepts that in this respect a 
psychological theory is indispensable. The formation 
of a new descriptive concept often leads to important 
consequences both in research and in theory, and as I 
have elsewhere shown" the criterion of a good descrip- 
tive concept is just this, that new facts and their 
functions are revealed by it. Functional adequacy 
always determines whether a new descriptive concept 
finds acceptance or rejection, a fact which in itself 
meets many of the objections raised by the behaviourist 
against the scientific evaluation of “ facts” of experience. 

In thus relating functional and descriptive concepts 
to each other we are only following the universal 
method of science. Yet we are making an assumption 
which should be explicitly understood, for in the relation 
between “outer” and “inner” behaviour as here con- 
ceived, the two are not “casually” linked together, but 
on the contrary are assumed to be essentially alike and 
materially related. Reverting to our earlier illustration 
of the wood-chopper, what we assume is that when the 
man feels tired and his efficiency decreases, these two 
aspects of his behaviour are fundamentally united. 
Otherwise a feeling of freshness might as readily 
accompany fatigue as does the more natural state of 
feeling tired.” While this correspondence is not 
invariable, it will be found that functional and descrip- 
tive concepts coincide in their general aim and outcome, 
though they are less closely related in their origin. The 
importance of this general problem of correspondence 
is merely referred to at this point; but we shall later 


attend to one of its special aspects, and shall see the 
18 


DESCRIPTIVE BEHAVIOUR 


weakness of a theory which allows the behaviourists to 
believe there is nothing to be gained from a description 
of experience.® 

But, though we insist on holding fast to “ experience,” 
must we not approve the behaviourists when they 
criticize human psychology on the ground that it is 
made to occupy a position quite apart from all other 
branches of psychology? We have already admitted 
that animal-psychology has not supplied us with a 
criterion for the existence of consciousness. What, 
then, are the consequences to be drawn from this 
failure? We observe a dog whose master holds a 
morsel of food beyond the dog’s reach. The animal 
assumes a very characteristic attitude, with its head 
stretched forward and upwards, the muscles of its body 
tense, and its ears pointed. We might continue the 
description in this manner, even supplementing it with 
pneumographic, sphygmographic, and other measure- 
ments. But is it forbidden us to summarize this 
description in a statement that the dog appears to be 
intent upon the hand of its master? Indeed, does not 
the enumeration of these details obtain its meaning from 
such a statement? Let us take another example from 
the work of Wolfgang Kohler upon the intelligence of 
primates.‘ In one place Kohler describes the affective 
expression of these apes. Referring to an outbreak of 
rage on the part of a female ape, Kohler writes: “If her 
coverlet is at hand, she will on such occasions strike the 
ground with it furiously ; otherwise she will begin to 
pull and throw grass. These outbreaks always have a 
noticeable component which, both in a physical and in a 
physiological sense, indicate a direction of the behaviour 
towards herenemy.” Oragain: “In any strong emotion 
without solution the animal must do something in that 
direction of space in which the object of its desire is 
to be found”, Kohler also observes that the same 
behaviour is characteristic of young children. 

Descriptions of this sort do not merely tell us that 

19 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


an animal will throw things in a direction which is. later 
found to be approximately that of its enemy; they show 
us, rather, that the animal is drected upon its enemy, and 
that every action arising from an emotion is controlled 
by this direction. Not only do the acts have this direc- 
tion, but the animal is itself thus directed. No unpre- 
judiced observer can doubt that a description of this 
sort is not only permissible, but desirable, and indeed 
necessary, in order to understand the animal’s behaviour. 

The behaviourist’s argument can now be turned 
against himself, for suppose we were to observe an out- 
break of rage on the part of a negro in Central Africa 
whose speech we do not understand. Must we confine 
ourselves to an enumeration of details concerning his 
external behaviour? Are we not justified in saying 
that his anger was directed upon an object, upon a 
person? If we may and must say this, then we have 
grounds for denying that the psychology of man occupies 
a special position among the sciences and are fully 
justified in describing a behaviour similar to that of 
man in the same terms that we would use in describing 
man’s own actions. 

Descriptions of this order refer to objective matters 
of fact, and our contention is that the animal’s behaviour 
(both “inner” and “outer”) is actually reproduced in 
these descriptions. In other words, we deny that a 
description of this sort endows the behaviour in question 
with mental properties which do not rightfully belong 
to it. Although a natural-scientific observation is 
commonly supposed to be strictly analytic, the applica- 
tion of strict analysis to an animal’s behaviour at once 
reduces it to mere mechanics of limb, and physiology 
of muscle and gland—a reductto ad absurdum which* 
even some of the younger behaviourists have begun 
to realize. Yet the difficulty of maintaining a scientific 
point of view disappears when we allow ourselves to 
assume that animals possess certain characteristics that 


can not be thus reduced to terms of analysis. It is 
20 


DESCRIPTIVE BEHAVIOUR 


freely admitted that this assumption carries with it 
very important implications for the whole theory of 
natural-scientific observation, which, unfortunately, we 
can not here pursue. But one of its outstanding 
implications is this: that an essential connection and a 
true correspondence do exist between our “total im- 
pression” of a certain type of behaviour and the real 
constituents of the behaviour itself. The way in which 
we must conceive the nature of this connection, and 
the special conditions under which it becomes effective, 
are as yet unsolved problems, but they embrace the 
foundations of any adequate theory concerning our 
knowledge of the mental life of the “ other man.” 8 

Nor is it because the question of consciousness is 
itself of such outstanding importance that we must 
follow this course, but because this course furnishes the 
one possibility of understanding the behaviour of the 
animal in a scientific way ; which, after all, is the only 
thing that really matters. We can agree with the 
behaviourists that whether consciousness is actually 
present or not we do not know, nor are we concerned 
to find out. But we can not agree to be uninterested 
in finding out whether the behaviour is of such a nature 
that the consciousness which would go with it, if there 
were any, would necessarily be of a definitely corre- 
sponding nature. For this reason the behaviour in 
question must be explained in the same way in which 
we would explain any type of behaviour that a conscious- 
ness of this particular kind has been observed to accom- 
pany.” But if certain brain-processes must be assumed 
for every observable fact of consciousness, may we not 
with equal right assume the presence of consciousness 
upon the presumption of like brain-processes even in 
cases where no descriptive reports are available? If we 
are justified in answering this question in the affirmative, 
as it appears that we are, we need have no further 
anxiety about the application of descriptive concepts 
to animal-behaviour. This answer, however, is not to 

2I 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


be taken as a defence of the anthropomorphism common 
to the older animal-psychology, which consisted more in 
pretty anecdotes than in scientific facts. To have made 
the attack upon this uncritical attitude is to the lasting 
credit of the American investigators; but they have 
gone too far, and in their desire to be “objective” they 
have relinquished much of their best material. 

The same point of view that is valid in animal- 
psychology is likewise valid in the psychology of child- 
hood ; for naturally the problem whether consciousness 
is present or not plays a much less important réle in 
infancy than it does in animal-behaviour. During the 
first days of life only can the presence of consciousness 
be questioned ; furthermore, another criterion aids us in 
certain cases to decide whether or not the infant is 
conscious. 


§ 6—Consciousness and the Nervous System 


In order to understand the aid rendered by conscious- 
ness we must first take a glance at the anatomy and 
physiology of the nervous system. The complete be- 
haviour of the higher animals is controlled by their 
nervous systems. The central apparatus receives all 
the nervous pathways that make the reception of stimuli 
possible. This we call the central nervous system, which 
is stimulated both by processes that take place in the 
surrounding world and also by those of the organs of 
the body itself. The central system likewise issues in 
nervous pathways by means of which all movements 
are aroused. Processes of the first kind involve the 
sensory, afferent, or receptive nerves, their connection 
with the outer world taking place either in specially 
constructed organs called sense-organs, or else in the 
free nerve-endings of the skin. The second class are 

22 


THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 


called motor or efferent nerves; which end in muscles 
or in glands and thus control the bodily movements 
and secretions. Among the various parts of the central 
apparatus we are concerned only with the central 
nervous system, for we can not here enter upon a study 
of the autonomic system, whose importance, however, 
becomes every day more apparent. 

According to Edinger * we can differentiate two parts 
of the central nervous system; one of these, found 
in all vertebrates,!® fulfils the function of the central 
apparatus to which we have already referred, in that 
it receives sensory impulses, and sends out motor im- 
pulses. This apparatus consists of the long and ex- 
tended spinal cord (medulla spinalis), which continues 
into the medulla oblongata, and also of a series of brain 
parts among which the cerebellum, the hind brain, the 
mid-brain, and the olfactory lobes may be named. This 
organ, when taken altogether, is termed by Edinger, 
the “old” brain (Pale-encephalon). To this original 
apparatus there is added, in the developmental series 
from the shark upwards, a new apparatus, called the 
cerebrum, which constantly increases its size until in 
man the original apparatus is completely covered by 
it (see Fig. 1). Edinger calls this the “new” brain 
(WVe-encephalon). The “new” brain is in the closest 
connection with the “old” brain, receptive pathways 
leading from the “old” to the “new,” where they 
terminate at the surface, or cerebral cortex. Motor 
pathways likewise lead from the cortex into the “old” 
brain, so that this later, yet far more effective, organ is 
capable of influencing the “ould” brain, and thereby the 
behaviour of the entire organism. 

We shall return to these matters again. For the 
present it is of interest to note that in man, an organism 
which, as we shall see, is more dependent than any 
other animal upon the functions of the cortex, those 
phases of his behaviour which take place through the 
functioning of the “old” brain alone, without any co- 


23 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


operation of the cortex, appear to be unconscious. Since 
the “old” brain gives rise to no experiences, man knows 
as little by way of it as he does of what is happening on 
the moon. A chance-observation of Edinger furnishes 
us a crude illustration of this fact: “1 observed the case 
of a woman in the act of labour, whose spinal cord, 
as a result of spinal caries, was totally incapable of 
carrying afferent impulses to the cortex. Consequently 
she went through all the characteristic movements of 
childbirth without in the least sensing these otherwise 
painful processes. Indeed, she discovered only by chance 
when some one came to the bed to render her assist- 
ance that she was in the act of giving birth. This 
patient has repeatedly assured me that she was alto- 
gether unconscious of this entirely pala-encephalic 
reaction.” 

If we were to assume the same dependence of con- 
sciousness upon the “new” brain of the suckling, we 
might infer that if there is a period of time in which 
the infant behaves in a purely palz-encephalic manner, 
itis highly improbable that the child’s behaviour is at 
that time accompanied by consciousness, In the course 
of our investigation of infancy we shall return to this 
question, 


§ 7—Divi'sion of the Psychological Methods 


We have already pointed out that psychology employs 
two kinds of concepts; for in addition to the natural- 
scientific method of observation, we also have recourse 
to experiential observations. Concerning both these 
methods, and especially with reference to their applica- 
tion in child-psychology, we shall soon have something 
more to say, but the two are so intimately connected 
with each other that psychology does not follow 
them separately. Indeed, the most important method 


24 





Shark (Chimaera) 


[After Edinger 
Fig. 1. “OLD” BRAIN, GREY: “NEW” BRAIN, BLACK 


[face p. 24 





PSYCHOLOGICAL METHODS 


employed in experimental psychology consists of 
natural-scientific observations combined with reports of 
experience. Wecome, therefore, to a division of psycho- 
logical methods into three parts: First, the purely 
natural-scientific method ; secondly, the combination of 
this with experiential observation, which is called the 
psycho-physical method, and thirdly, the purely psycho- 
logical or descriptive method, which relies altogether 
upon the observation of experience. 


1. The Natural-Scientific Method consists in observ- 
ing the individual in a certain situation. An experiment 
can readily be constructed in this way by controlling 
the state of the organism—for instance, by depriving it 
of food—and likewise by controlling the situation in 
which the observations are to be made. Oftentimes an 
experiment of this kind involves measurements; for 
example, in the investigation of fatigue one can determine 
the quantity of work accomplished in a given unit of 
time. Or, again, one can measure the time taken by an 
individual in the solution of a problem. Such experi- 
ments are often referred to as achtevement-tests, 


2. The Psycho-Physical Method is distinguished from 
the first type in that a “description” of behaviour is 
also included as a part of its data. One includes not 
only the data observed by the experimenter, but also 
those reported as being the experience of the observing 
subject. This method also is employed, for the most 
part, in the form of an experiment. The situation is 
controlled by the experimenter so far as possible in 
mensurable terms. The behaviour of the subject is then 
studied while the situation is being altered in a pre- 
arranged manner so as to provoke corresponding changes 
in behaviour, which is understood to include the ex- 
periences reported by the subject. The aim of this 
method varies according as the emphasis is placed upon 
the descriptive, or upon the functional data involved. 


25 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


This difference can be made clear by the following 
examples, 

(a) The investigation of auditory perception may be 
referred to as emphasizing the descriptive aspect of 
behaviour. If I wish to find out what auditory experi- 
ences occur when an individual is stimulated by various 
kinds of sound, only the sound-processes are varied. 
These being the relevant factors in the situation, the 
procedure is much simplified. We call these variable 
elements of the situation, which have a bearing upon 
the experiences of the observer, s¢zmu/z, and they must 
be varied in a systematic way. For instance, the ex- 
perimenter arranges simple sound-waves of variable 
frequency and intensity, and then replaces these with 
more complex waves. In short, such variations are 
introduced as may be necessary in the solution of his 
problem. It will at once be seen that, without the 
guidance of a descriptive point of view, the selection of 
an appropriate method in any psychological investiga- 
tion is virtually impossible. That is why the above 
description is so vague, although it may suffice for the 
purpose at hand. 

After hearing the sound, the observer proceeds to 
describe the effects of the different stimuli, and, generally 
speaking, this description involves certain kinds of be- 
haviour. For instance, the observer may be called upon 
to judge whether two tones are equal or different; in 
what respect and in what direction they vary, etc. These 
judgments involve acts of behaviour which can be 
determined by natural-scientific means. In fact, we do 
not need the observer’s report at all, since it can be re- 
placed by other reactions, such as we are obliged to 
introduce in the tests of animals. We can, for instance, 
train the individual to make a certain response whenever 
the higher of two tones is sounded. If the training is 
successful under conditions which make it possible to 
ascertain that the response was not based upon a differ- 
ence of intensity, or some other factor than pitch, we 


26 


PSYCHOLOGICAL METHODS 


may conclude that the frequency-number has been the 
effective agent in producing the observer’s reaction. Yet 
this fact can be determined much more quickly, and 
much more easily, by simply asking the observer whether 
the two tones were alike or different. 

It is, however, quite true that the report is only a 
convenient and abbreviated type of behaviour, and that 
in so far as the report refers exclusively to behaviour it 
can be replaced by a mensurable reaction. But, as our 
last example clearly shows, this in no way justifies the 
behaviourist in assuming that the observer’s report is 
altogether negligible. The training-tests, introduced as 
a substitute for the psychological report, may indeed 
show that an organism is capable of reacting differently 
to two sound-waves of different frequencies. But this 
result, as we know, is psychologically insufficient. For 
instance, suppose I test two observers, A and B, with 
the tones of 500 and 600 v. d., and suppose that the 
test has in each case been successfully administered. 
If we examine the reports of A and B, A may say “the 
two test-tones constituted a minor third, and I reacted 
to the higher,’ while B may express himself quite 
differently ; perhaps he does not know what a minor 
third is, nor when one tone is Azgher than another. In- 
stead B may describe his experience by saying that 
one tone was duller, and the other brighter, and that he 
reacted to the dvzghter tone. Although the training 
was successful, and the objective behaviour the same in 
both cases, yet so different are the descriptions given by 
these two observers that we must conclude the results 
of the training involve different types of behaviour. In 
fact, tests are certain to. show that observer A is much 
more capable of auditory training than observer B; yet, 
without knowing anything of their respective experi- 
ences, how could one find out wherein this difference 
lay, or upon what it depended? 

If, on the other hand, an observer can master the 
descriptive aspects of the situation so as to be able to 


27 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


differentiate such attributes, for instance, as Kohler’s 
“tone-body” and pitch, then tests of behaviour can be 
made which are calculated to determine the utility of 
these descriptive results. This example furthermore 
demonstrates that experiential observation is not so 
simple an affair, and that to be able to proceed from a 
certain observation of experience to the construction of 
an appropriate descriptive concept of it may itself be a 
highly significant performance. Kohler was the first to 
define the concept of “tone-body,” as a description of 
certain auditory data already well-known to the psycho- 
logist, though never before formulated. Thus, sooner 
or later inadequate descriptive concepts act as a check 
upon investigation; but progress can never be made, 
even with the aid of this check, by such a total abandon- 
ment of descriptive concepts as the behaviourist pro- 
posed. Progress can and will come, however, with a 
continuous refinement of these concepts, as they are 
employed by investigators with constant reference to 
the overt response in connection with which the experi- 
ence occurs. Both the response and the experience 
must be intimately correlated, as, indeed, they always 
have been in the psycho-physical methods. Whenever 
we succeed in setting up a new and useful descriptive 
concept, it is immediately apparent that the multi- 
plicity of relations between stimulus and_ behaviour 
(both external and descriptive) become more distinct 
and intelligible. The relation itself is a natural-scientific 
fact which can not be reported by an observer with his 
incomplete information, because the observer reports 
now this experience and now that. The experimenter 
accepts his report as something to be studied in 
connection with the nature of the stimulus which, as 
a rule, is known to the observer. In this procedure the 
experimenter’s selection of data is immaterial®!; for 
after the results have been recorded anyone can do the 
work of determining what uniformities they show, and 
likewise anyone can criticize, and should be ready to 


28 


PSYCHOLOGICAL METHODS 


criticize, the conclusions reached. The individuality of 
the observer, however, is always material, for we can not 
attribute to observer A an experience that has been 
reported by observer B.. 

The final outcome of the psycho-physical method is a 
law expressed in terms of a functional concept. But this 
outcome is not arrived at without the employment of 
descriptive concepts; and under certain circumstances the 
definition of a new descriptive concept may, indeed, be the 
most important result of a psycho-physical investigation, 

(4) Emphasis upon the functional side of the psycho- 
physical method can be illustrated by the investigations 
of memory. A number of the important methods in the 
investigation of memory consist in impressing certain 
material (preferably nonsense-syllables in an ordered 
series) more or less firmly upon the observer and, after 
a definite interval of time, determining by various 
methods what the observer still retains; how quickly 
he can reproduce it; what errors are made, etc. So far 
we are dealing merely with certain types of behaviour, 
But memory-experiments are more than tests of be- 
haviour ; for the observer is also asked to make reports 
upon his experiences while learning. We ask him to 
describe the images he reproduces, and to state the 
degree of certainty with which the reproductions occur, 
etc. The compilation of these reports permits a fuller 
understanding of his behaviour which is more in focus 
here than it was in the investigations described under (a). 
Yet the principle is the same in both cases. The 
enormous significance of working the material over in 
the mind before it will be retained” can hardly be 
determined without the aid of descriptive data. Yet 
this comprehension of the material is a fundamental 
datum in any doctrine of memory. 

3. The Purely Psychological Method renounces all 
claim to natural-scientific observation, and is satisfied 
with experiential observation alone. The method as 
such is of greater importance to the psychologist than 


29 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


it is to psychology ; that is to say, a contemplation of 
psychological phenomena will often suggest to the 
psychologist that certain hypotheses which have been 
framed to embrace these phenomena are incorrect. The 
psychologist will then seek to test his hypotheses by 
other, and especially by psycho-physical, methods. For 
this reason the psychological method is not to be 
rejected, because it may be very useful as a beginning, 
or as a preparation for a scientific investigation, and it 
may even set new problems, and suggest new hypotheses, 
as well as lead to the formation of new descriptive 
concepts. On the other hand, we can never be entirely 
content with this method alone, since it ever stands in 
need of a substantiation and a supplementation which 
can only be had by employing other methods.” 


§ 8—Methods in Child-Psychology 


In the psychology of childhood, and especially in the 
first stages of the child’s development, the observation 
of behaviour plays a leading part; and not only in the 
pre-linguistic stage, but later also in the investigation 
of the linguistic performances themselves. Indeed, one 
can have no recourse to experiential observation until 
long after birth. What the child says in his early efforts 
to speak concerns the “actual world,” and not the world 
of experience as we have defined this term. Our purely 
natural-scientific observations, however, require supple- 
mentation. Already in discussing the question of con- 
sciousness we have seen that it may be of the greatest 
importance, in a scientific understanding of the organism’s 
objective behaviour, to be able to form a picture of what 
was being experienced while this behaviour was going on. 
We must therefore consider the psychological aspects of 
infantile behaviour, and be prepared to employ descriptive 
concepts without the aid of any direct report of the 
child’s experience. In order to accomplish this end a 
“psychological talent” is requisite which constitutes a 

30 


METHODS IN CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


special form of our third, or purely psychological, method. 
With the aid of this “talent” we must try to put our- 
selves in the place of the child, with the same tasks before 
us which the child is expected to solve, and with only 
those means at our disposal which are available to the 
child. In this way we can endeavour to determine 
the characteristic phenomena occurring under these 
conditions™. As a working hypothesis we may therefore 
assume that similar phenomena are present in the mind 
of the child, though we have then to verify this hypothesis 
indirectly by means of objective tests of behaviour, 

In most cases, however, the way is more direct; for 
the observation of behaviour supplies us not only with 
a description of muscular contractions and glandular 
secretions, but also with certain properties of behaviour 
that belong to the “inner” as well as to the “outer” 
responses. Thus the objective behaviour which is ob- 
served implies an “inner” behaviour which can not be 
observed. Such implications demand, of course, functional 
verification, but their discovery is a service which the 
mother is peculiarly qualified to perform. 

Concretely, how must we proceed ? 

1. Most of the knowledge we now have we owe to 
diary-notes concerning the. development of individual 
children. From the first days of the infant’s life a mother, 
a father, or some one who is intimate with the child, 
observes what he does, and what happenstohim. Need- 
less to say, the child’s natural development should be 
recorded as completely as possible; but strictly speak- 
ing, one can not record everything. A selection being 
necessary, all depends upon its appropriateness. In 
making his observations the observer must therefore 
assume a certain attitude. He must consider certain 
things, or his observations will be aimless, and many 
important matters will be overlooked. These diaries of 
child-life are therefore not uninfluenced by the character 
of the writer, by the problem with which he is concerned, 
and, indeed, by the level of his child-psychology. The 

ses 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


diaries we have often give no answer to certain questions 
arising in the study of infantile development. These 
questions therefore lead us to begin new diaries intended 
to record data that will answer these questions, What 
I wish to say is only this—that the collection of data is 
not a merely mechanical and receptive affair, since the 
greatest foresight and the strictest self-criticism are 
demanded of those who keep diaries of child-life for 
scientific purposes. Inthe diary itself only actual observa- 
tions should be recorded, and nothing at all in the way of 
interpretation”. This, however, is easier said than done; 
for in order to describe a child’s behaviour concepts are 
needed, the applicability of which can often be decided 
only by recourse to the behaviour that is being described. 
Such concepts, for instance, are “environment” and 
“reaction.” If one understands by environment, not 
the physical surroundings of the child, but rather his 
biological surroundings, and even, under certain condi- 
tions, his phenomenal or psychological experiences, then 
the environment can be known only with reference to./ 
the reaction, and sometimes the reaction gua reaction 
can be understood only in relation to the environment. 

2. The occasional observation of a noteworthy per- 
formance may also be valuable in the investigation of 
infancy. But one must know the exact conditions under 
which it occurred. The record of such observations must 
therefore be very accurate, and should include a descrip- 
tion of the complete status of the child as well as an 
account of the special conditions under which the be- 
haviour took place. 

3. Experiment, which is the most important method 
of normal psychology, has not yet attained the position 
it should have in the investigation of childhood. This 
is because we must deal almost exclusively with achieve- 
ment-tests which hitherto have fallen without the scope 
of experimental psychology, and for which no exact 
methods were available. The methods employed by the 
American animal-psychologists, which we shall discuss 


32 


METHODS IN CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


later, could not properly be applied to a child. To 
be sure, experiment has not been altogether lacking. 
J. Mark Baldwin carried on experiments with infants to 
whom he presented objects which varied stepwise in 
certain directions, For instance, colours were shown, and 
the observation was made as to which would be grasped 
spontaneously. Other investigators have undertaken ex- 
periments upon children, which were copied from the 
training-tests of animals. But, generally speaking, one 
can say that experiments have not yet been adapted to 
the most important problems of child-psychology. 

Recently, however, Kohler has succeeded in devising 
tests suitable for the investigation of the most important 
problems of behaviour, which he has applied to anthro- 
poid apes, and which can readily be carried over into 
child-psychology. Indeed, Kohler has already conducted 
some experiments with children, and Biihler has followed 
him with others of like nature. 

The chief condition which these experiments fulfil— 
and a condition which all good achievement-tests must 
fulfil—is that the demands of the investigation shall be 
accommodated to the level of the subject; so that he is 
not placed in situations entirely artificial and of necessity 
unintelligible to him. But in addition—and this is of 
the utmost importance in child-psychology—Kohler’s 
tests are of such a nature that the normal and healthy 
development of the subject experimented upon is in no 
wise disturbed by them. We may confidently expect 
that with the aid of this new method, which at the proper 
time will be described in detail, child-psychology will 
make a great stride forward. 

In conclusion, let me refer to an investigation con- 
ducted by Alfred Binet. This investigator believed that 
one could replace the experiments upon children by 
experiments upon feeble-minded adult-individuals who 
might be considered as “stereotyped children” of a 
mensurable age, and who, just because of this stereo- 
typy, ought to furnish precisely the kind of subjects 

33 Cc 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


needed for experimentation. But “no more than dwarfs 
can be considered children of suspended development, 
can the feeble-minded be compared mentally with certain 
ages of childhood”®*.. For this reason alone Binet’s 
method must be rejected as totally unsuited to the 
investigation of the mental development of children. 

It isa different matter when one makes use of retarded 
children for the investigation of a definite problem, 
because a certain process may stand out more clearly in 
their behaviour than it does in that of normal children ; 
since retarded children learn with greater difficulty, they 
remain unstable for longer periods of time, and they 
acquire automatic responses less quickly than normal 
children. For these reasons investigation is sometimes 
more effective with retarded individuals than with normal 
children, and an experiment of this sort undertaken by 
Peters has brought good results. 

No general rules for the treatment of the results of 
observation and experiment can be laid down, Claparéde 
emphasizes the importance of two questions: (1) What 
is the present developmental status of a certain type of 
behaviour? For example, does the child still merely 
babble, or does he understand his words? Suppose one 
has observed a certain “reaction,” and wishes to know 
what its significance may be as a “performance.” This 
question leads to that much disputed and almost always 
misstated problem: Is the behaviour in question inherited 
or acquired, or, more precisely, what part of it is in- 
herited, and what part acquired? (2) What is the 
present function of the behaviour? For example, we 
must ask: What process performs the same function in 
a child of a given age that conceptual thinking does in 
aman? On the other hand, we should not ask whether 
a child thinks in terms of concepts ; for although Clap- 
arede’s question is right and sound, we can not use the 
same procedure in approaching the mental life of a child 
that we are accustomed to employ with adults. There 
are two reasons for this: In the first place we know very 


34 


BOOKS ON CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


little about the thought-processes of adults—much less, 
indeed, than our own philosophy would warrant us in 
supposing. Having originated in logic, the concepts 
with which we work—for good or ill as the case may be— 
have lost all connection with living thought. In the 
second place, by asking such a question we block the 
way to anything which may be specifically different from 
that which an adult might expect to find. Whenever an 
ethnologist of an earlier period was satisfied with ascer- 
taining that a people could count only up to five, the 
nature of his question destroyed every possibility of 
securing msight into the processes of calculation which 
these people may have employed as a substitute for 
counting. Against this kind of error in child-psychology 
we can not be too much on our guard. 


§ 9—Books on Child-Psychology 


We shall mention here only a few of the more im- 
portant books on child-psychology. A list of the works 
frequently used in this volume will be found preceding 
the notes in the appendix. The remaining literature is 
listed in the notes themselves, while ready reference is 
facilitated by the arrangement of the index. 

The standard book on child-psychology is the work 
of William Preyer, published in 1882. It is still a mine 
of observations and is really indispensable, although in 
theory it is long since out of date. A good charac- 
terization of the work may be found in Bihler’s book 
on the same subject. 


W. Preyer, The Mind of the Child (translated by 
H. W. Brown). Part I. The Senses and 
the Will, 1888; Part II. The Development 
of the Intellect, 1889. 


The most recent work of importance dealing with the 
problems of child-psychology in closest relation with 
those of general psychology, and at the same time doing 


35 


PROBLEM AND METHOD 


justice to the point of view of comparative psychology, 
is by Buhler, while a briefer though equally commend- 
able book by the same author brings the idea of 
development still more into the foreground. 


Karl Buhler, Dze gezstige Entwicklung des Kindes. 
4th edition, 1924 (citations from the 2nd 
edition). 

Same author: Avrédiss der getstigen Entwicklung 
des Kindes. In Wessenschaft und Bildung, 
V olsiS6." “1919. 


Equally modern, and filled with his own abundant 
experience of the subject, is the work of William Stern, 
Psychologie der friihen Kindhett bts zum 6 ten. Lebens- 
Jahre, 1914, 2nd edition, 1921 (English translation, 1924). 

Among older works should be mentioned the stimu- 
lating book of Karl Groos, Das Seelenleben des Kindes, 
selected lectures, 4th edition, 1913; and the little book 
by R. Gaupp, which also treats of the psychology of 
the school-child, Psychologie des Kindes, in Natur und 
Gezsteswelt, Vol. 213, 3rd edition, 1912. 

Among works not of German origin a bock by 
Eduard Claparéde is written from a pedagogical point 
of view—LExperimental Pedagogy and the Psychology of 
the Child (translated from the 4th edition, by Louch 
and Holman, 1911; a 9th edition has since appeared in 
the original French, 1922). 


J. Sully, Studzes tn Childhood, New York, 1896. 

G. Compayré, The Intellectual and Moral Develop- 
ment of the Child (translated by Wilson, 
Part I. New York, 1896; Part II. Develop- 
ment of the Child in Later Infancy, New York, 
1902). 


These are two beautifully written older works which 
are stimulating, and contain much valuable material. 
Finally, I wish to refer to the comprehensive work 
of Thorndike, which aeRP to establish the principles 
2 


BOOKS ON CHILD-PSYCHOLOGY 


of the science, many of which are criticized in this book. 
The work is not a child-psychology in the narrower 
meaning of the term. 


E. L. Thorndike, Educational Psychology, 3 Vols. 
New York, 1913-1914. 


Some monographs on the development of individual 
children are specified in the list at the end of the book. 
Reference is here made to but two voluminous treatises 
of special subjects, by William Stern and his wife, and 
which, beginning with observations of their own children, 
led them to survey the whole field of investigation in 
child-psychology. 


Clara and William Stern, Wonographien tiber die 
seelische Entwicklung des Kindes. 1. Die 
Kindersprache, 1907. Il. Erinnerung, Aus- 
sage, und Liige in der ersten Kindhett, 1909. 


37 


CHAPTER II 
GENERAL FACTS AND POINTS OF VIEW 


§ 1—Maturation and Learning 


WE speak of development whenever an organism or 
any special organ becomes larger, heavier, more finely 
structured, or more capable of functioning. One must, 
however, differentiate two types of development: de- 
velopment as growth or maturation, and development 
as learning. Growth and maturation are processes of 
development which depend upon the inherited charac- 
teristics of the individual, just as any morphological 
character like the form of the skull is determined at 
birth. To be sure, growth and maturation are not 
altogether independent of the individual’s environment. 
Under-nourishment will check growth, and it may, in 
exceptional cases, prove permanently harmful. In the 
forcing-house, one can accelerate growth and blooming, 
but under “normal” conditions the course of these 
developmental phases is primarily dependent upon the 
laws of heredity.2”7 Likewise under “normal” con- 
ditions the environment may influence growth and 
maturation by determining the selection of individual 
types of behaviour. Children who grow up out-of-doors 
are stimulated by their surroundings to run, to jump, 
to swim, etc., while children who are kept indoors are 
more likely to use their fingers than their arms and 
legs. The mere fact that an organ, such as a muscle, 
is frequently used will influence its growth quite apart 
from the specific character of the response; think of 


38 


MATURATION AND LEARNING 


the many “systems” in vogue for strengthening the 
bodily muscles. A similar statement is applicable to 
the maturation of the sense-organs. By learning, how- 
ever, we understand a change in ability resulting from 
quite definite individual activities. In learning to play 
cards it is not enough that one should grow up amid 
favourable circumstances, or that one’s fingers should 
have attained a certain degree of technical facility ; but, 
first of all, it is necessary to understand the significance 
of a pack of cards, and of each card for itself. When 
some one says that So-and-so is a born card-player, he 
does not mean that by merely glancing at a pack of 
fifty-two cards spread out on a table the “born player” 
could sit down with three other persons and without 
instruction be able to play a perfect game of “ bridge.” 
Nor does he even mean that such a person would at 
once be able to play the game somehow and would 
quickly master its intricacies by himself'as, for instance, 
birds are able to fly as soon as they try to do so, and 
quickly attain the highest degree of perfection in this 
art. An ability to play cards is not thus laid down 
in the individual’s inherited disposition. It need not 
develop at all in the whole course of a lifetime, and 
when it does develop, it is a new acquisition. 

In any consideration of development we are con- 
fronted with this opposition of inherited and acquired 
traits. Whether this opposition can be bridged over, 
whether that which is inherited must first have been 
acquired by our ancestors in the course of racial develop- 
ment,8 are questions we shall here leave out of con- 
sideration. Yet this opposition is found in the develop- 
ment of every individual; a fact which we can only 
note in passing without further explanation at present; 
since to explain it would require a detailed analysis of 
what learning actually is, and that is one main problem 
of our entire book. 

Nevertheless, we should have this problem clearly in 
mind at the beginning of our inquiry, because capacities 


39 


POINTS OF VIEW 


are controlled by laws, inherent in the organism, and » 
are very loosely dependent upon the individual’s achieve- 
ments, whereas the abilities of an individual are chiefly 
determined by his experiences and achievements. 

This double aspect of development makes difficult 
the solution of a problem to which reference was made 
at the beginning of the first chapter—the problem, 
namely, as to what part of any performance is inherited, 
and what part of it is acquired. In general, it has been 
thought possible to proceed as though whatever took 
place at birth, or upon the first appearance of a certain 
type of behaviour, could be differentiated from later 
forms of the same act—the former as being inherited, 
and the latter as being acquired. But even so, this 
differentiation is extraordinarily difficult. Furthermore, 
one need not regard every improvement in a perform- 
ance as an acquisition of learning ; neither are all com- 
plicated performances necessarily acquired or learned ; 
for we must not neglect the part played by mere 
maturation in the refinement of behaviour, both in its 
motor and also in its sensory aspects. 


§ 2—The Function of Infancy 


A comparative study of behaviour leads us to conclude 
that the higher an individual stands in the animal-series, 
the more helpless he is at birth, and the longer will his 
period of “infancy” last. The human being constitutes 
the extreme in both respects; his almost complete 
dependency at birth being associated with an extra- 
ordinarily long infancy and youth, a period which, 
indeed, exceeds the whole lifetime of many mammals. 
At no time during the entire course of his maturation 
does the human being attain a complete mastery of any 
of his capacities, whereas such a mastery is attained 
much earlier by other animals, especially by organisms 
much farther down the scale—which in this respect are 
superior to man. Infancy must therefore have a peculiar 


40 


THE FUNCTION OF INFANCY 


and a specific function, closely related to the superiority 
of the higher forms of life. For this reason Claparéde 
raises the question: “Of what use is childhood?” 
The superficial facts of comparative biology show us in 
what direction the answer to this question must lie, 
since infancy is the period of greatest potentiality for 
development. During this period man changes froma 
very helpless creature into the best-equipped of all the 
species. In comparison, a chick can perform many acts 
correctly as soon as it breaks from the shell, and a full- 
grown hen can not do much more than a chick. 

The development that takes place during infancy is 
also subject to conditions specifically different from 
those of embryonic development. The embryo’s sur- 
roundings are constant, and its development is guided 
chiefly by a kind of immanent law, external conditions 
playing only the part usual in processes of growth and 
maturation. But all this is changed in the post- 
embryonic period, for the older the child becomes, the 
more specific is the influence which the world exercises 
upon his life. From this fact alone one may conclude 
that development becomes more and more a matter of 
“acquisitions”—in the sense of learning — and also, 
that certain stages of development are attained only 
after learning has been added to growth and maturation, 
Childhood is the period of learning par excellence which 
Claparéde speaks of as the constructive period of life. 
Indeed, the efficiency that distinguishes the most highly- 
developed from all lower forms of life can not be attained 
simply through the fixed and inherited laws of develop- 
ment in growth and maturation, Learning is also 
essential to them; for efficiency depends upon functions 
that are not fixed in advance. When we reflect that 
learning, objectively considered, is an actual perform- 
ance, we are better able to understand infancy, since 
both the extent and the intensity of learning that goes 
on at this time far exceed the amount of learning in all 
the later epochs of an individual’s life-history. 


4I 


POINTS OF VIEW 


§ 3—Parallels in Developmental Hrstory 


A comparative method of treatment has gone still 
further in bringing ontogenetic and phylogenetic develop- 
ment—or, in other words, the development of the indi- 
vidual and of the race—into relation with each other. 
Many analogies have been drawn, of varying theoretical 
significance, in the explanation of which many different 
hypotheses have been constructed. Let me introduce 
this topic with a statement by William Stern concerning 
the development of a child. “The human individual 
in the first month of his life is a ‘suckling’ whose lower 
senses preponderate. He enjoys but a dull instinctive 
and reflexive existence on the mammalian level. Inthe 
second half-year, however, the infant has attained a stage 
of development like that of the highest mammals—the 
apes ®°furnished as he now is with the capacity of grasp- 
ing, and also with a versatility in imitation. But he does 
not become a man until his second year when he has 
acquired an upright posture and the ability to speak. 
During the next five years of play- and dream-life he is 
at the level of primitive peoples. Then follows entrance 
into school, and a closer articulation with the social 
group, together with the imposition of definite obliga- 
tions, involving a sharp distinction between work and 
leisure—all of which constitutes an ontogenetic parallel 
to the introduction of man into a civilized state with its 
political and economic organization. In the first years 
of school-age the simple situations of antiquity and of 
the Old Testament are most adequate to the youthful 
mind. The middle years bring with them the enthusi- 
astic features of Christian civilization, while at puberty 
he attains for the first time the mental differentiation 
which corresponds to present-day civilization. The 
period of puberty has, indeed, often been designated as 
the ‘ Age of Enlightenment’ for the individual.” 

I have reproduced this long quotation, not because I 
believe that all the analogies indicated are truly factual, 

42 


PARALLELS IN DEVELOPMENTAL HISTORY 


but rather to make clear the purport of Stern’s view. 
We find here epochs of childhood compared with stages 
in the developmental series of animals, both the lower 
and the higher mammals, and compared also with human 
epochs, stages of culture, primitive, antique, Christian, 
and modern. Stanley Hall, who for a generation has 
been pointing out the importance of these analogies, 
and who has devoted both time and effort in working 
them out, goes even further than Stern; for he finds 
traits amongst children which recall the aquatic ancestors 
of man, as, for instance, paddling movements and the 
rapture with which the infant beholds a body of water. 
It should be expressly noted that actual and material 
grounds of connection which can be employed in the 
explanation of development are assumed for these 
analogies, and not mere similarities. Accordingly we 
shall now turn our attention to these theories; for 
without a doubt such analogies do exist. Typically 
infantile modes of behaviour, such as play, are obvious in 
other mammals. There are stages of child-development 
in which intelligent performances gradually become 
possible which, according to Kéhler’s investigation, are 
also typical of chimpanzees. Furthermore, the cate- 
gories employed by the child in his apprehension of the 
world about him are quite similar to those of so-called 
primitive peoples. Yet these analogies are not at all 
limited to the age of childhood. Many adult forms of 
behaviour, especially when the inhibitions of education, 
custom, and convention fall away, are remarkably like 
the behaviour of apes. I may refer here to Kéhler’s 
description of the function of adornment among chim- 
panzees*, The question is, what conclusion may be 
drawn from these analogies? And before we proceed to 
an answer our material must first be tested in a strictly 
critical manner. In the use of analogies scientific 
stringency is all too readily replaced by fantastic 
excursions into the realm of fiction. It is easy enough 
to find analogies when one is looking for them, but to 


43 


POINTS OF VIEW 


separate out of the abundance of material that which, 
properly speaking, is alone essential to the act, is a 
problem that has not always been rightly solved in this 
field of study. 

I. The Theory of Recapitulation regards the develop- 
ment of the individual as an abbreviated and a more or 
less distorted replica of the development of the race. 
The theory assumes that every individual passes through 
all the stages of development through which his species 
has previously passed. This is taken to be an immanent 
law of development based upon inherited dispositions. 
One thinks at once of Haeckel’s biogenetic law, which 
states of morphological embryonic development that 
ontogenesis is an abbreviated repetition of biogenesis. 
The connection of this law with the theory of recapitu- 
lation is strongly emphasized by its advocates. The 
distortion, which is apparent in ontogenesis when com- 
pared with biogenesis, is explained by the different 
conditions under which the two kinds of development 
take place. Every development is, indeed, dependent, 
not only upon immanent laws, but also upon external 
influences, and if these influences happen to vary a 
difference in development must also result. 

The theory has many advocates, among whom Stanley 
Hall and his school have taken the greatest pains to 
formulate it in demonstrable terms. Their method is 
essentially this: to analyse modes of behaviour of the 
most general sort, and to point out those features which 
can not be explained as a product of learning or indi- 
vidual acquisition, but which may be found nevertheless 
in quite similar forms at earlier stages of development. 
In this way Stanley Hall has investigated the phenome- 
non of fear. As an instance, he takes the inexplicable 
pavor nocturnus—the fact that children often awake and 
cry out in the night with a terror from which it is hard 
to get them back to sleep again—which he explains as 
an atavism. The child reverts to a long-past epoch 
when man slept alone in the woods, exposed to danger, 


44 


PARALLELS IN DEVELOPMENTAL HISTORY 


and was suddenly disturbed in his sleep. An important 
set of facts relevant to this general problem may be 
found in the play of children; for in play the child is 
supposed to re-enact the life of his remote ancestors. 
With the aid of Hall’s questionnaire-method, one of his 
students has collected a large mass of material con- 
cerning children’s play of the most various kinds. Plays 
of Indians and robbers, also constructive plays of 
building and digging, plays of adornment, such as 
tattooing and filing the nails, furnish material which 
Hall regards as a complete vindication of the theory, 
because the influence of environment, he thinks, would 
be quite insufficient to explain the details of these varied 
types of activity ™. 

2. Instead of regarding individual development as a 
repetition of racial development, the Theory of Utility 
attributes both to the same causes. All development is 
said to result from the operation of two principles: 
accidental variation and the selection of appropriate 
responses. In the course of racial development certain 
types of response arise in accordance with these princi- 
ples, and either survive or are again lost. If retained 
in any species, the moment for the appearance of such 
a trait in the ontogenesis of that species is determined 
as a joint effect of variation and selection, rather than 
by the law of recapitulation. For instance, nursing 
occurs very early in ontogenesis but very late in phylo- 
genesis. The situation is reversed with respect to the 
sexual instinct, which appears early in racial develop- 
ment, but late in the development of the individual. 
This theory, which is vigorously upheld by Thorndike, 
is based upon the general theory of development 
associated with the name of Darwin, although Darwin 
and his immediate school did not restrict themselves 
within the limits imposed by the “ Neo-Darwinism” 
which has been named after him, and which employs 
only the two principles of variation and selection *. 

If we examine a number of individuals of the same 


45 


POINTS OF VIEW 


species, we find that no two specimens are wholly alike. 
Individuals of the same species differ more or less from 
one another in the most varied ways. The uniformity 
of a species therefore is only an agreement of type 
within certain definite limits of variation. These limits 
of variation are assumed by Neo-Darwinism, and are 
considered to function in such a way that some indi- 
viduals are better equipped to meet certain external 
conditions, while others are better equipped to meet 
other conditions. In the course of development those 
individuals better adapted to the essential features of 
their surroundings are much more successful in their 
struggle for existence. The traits of these surviving 
individuals are then passed on to their descendants, 
while those who lack these traits gradually die out. 
The same principles of variation and selection are again 
active in the offspring, so that the race is constantly 
becoming better adapted to its surroundings, and must 
therefore continue upon its course of development. 

3. The third of these theories of development, which 
is known as the Theory of Correspondence, maintains 
that ontogenesis and phylogenesis are closely related 
processes. Since each has to do with the development 
of organisms, it is highly probable that certain general 
characteristics of development play a dominating part 
both in ontogenesis and in phylogenesis, In the concrete 
terms of Claparede *4, “ Nature employs identical means 
for effecting the evolution both of the individual and 
of the race.” One may expect, therefore, that all the 
beginning-stages in any course of evolution will actually 
be of a similar nature, and that this similarity will apply 
equally to primitive levels, to more progressive levels, 
and even to the highest levels of development. Dewey 
and his school have elaborated this theory for child- 
study *, and a similar idea underlies Oswald Spengler’s 
Philosophy of Hrestory. 

The points of difference between these three theories 
may be made somewhat more precise in the following 


46 


PARALLELS IN DEVELOPMENTAL HISTORY 


manner. According to the first theory the inherited 
disposition upon which the development of the individual 
rests is so constituted as to include everything that was 
ever inherited in the preceding generations of the race. 
All these tendencies become actualized in a serial order 
which is essentially determined by the order in which 
they arose in the ancestral series. The individual, 
therefore, possesses every single possibility of reaction 
to its environment ever possessed by the race, and the 
temporal order in which these different possibilities are 
realized is in the main determined by the original order 
of their succession. 

According to the second theory the tendencies are 
so constituted as to include only those characteristics 
that have been selected because of their utility, while 
the serial order of their appearance is determined by the 
biological needs of the individual, and of the species. 
Consequently the individual possesses only a selection 
from among the various possible tendencies of the past 
with which to react upon its present environment, the 
temporal order of their realization depending altogether 
upon their utilization. 

According to the third theory dispositional traits are 
so constituted that the individual indicates the history 
of his development from the most primitive beginnings 
by typical forms of reaction to his environment which 
appear at every stage in his career; and these reactions 
correspond in a general way to the stages of racial 
development. There are, therefore, primitive, more 
highly developed, and very highly developed forms of 
reaction, each of a uniform type, whether they be found 
in ontogenesis or in phylogenesis. 

If we must declare ourselves with respect to these 
three theories, it is at once obvious that the third theory 
is far more cautious than either of the other two; its 
hypothesis being closer to the factual data, the way is 
left open to further theoretical constructions. This isa 
great advantage, because in general the current theories 


47 


POINTS OF VIEW 


of development, and especially those of inheritance, 
are highly controversial and unsatisfactory. The third 
theory relieves us from the necessity of deciding for any 
one theory—a decision which at best would be arbitrary 
—and it thereby holds our interest in the discovery of 
further explanations of the facts. After investigations 
undertaken from this point of view have yielded con- 
crete results, we can readily use them in the construction 
of further hypotheses, William Stern accepts this theory 
when, for instance, he speaks of “genetic parallels” *6, in 
a concrete investigation of speech. 

The theory of recapitulation and its exaggerations, 
with which the reader is already acquainted from our 
discussion, has been frequently attacked *’, and most 
energetically in his larger work by Thorndike, who 
rightly points out the fragmentary data and the often 
contradictory inferences it employs. In its principal 
field, that of play, the theory has also been rejected 
by Stern, who agrees with it only to this extent: “that 
every mental development in the individual, as well as 
in the race, follows certain laws governing the change 
from primitive and cruder forms of life onwards to com- 
plicated and more highly differentiated forms; for which 
reason the play of the child reveals many analogies with 
behaviour at lower stages of human development” ®, 
This admission, however, is nothing but an acknow- 
ledgment of the correspondence-theory *. 

The utility-theory is much too closely tied up with 
special hypotheses to warrant our acceptance of it, 
because it stands or falls with Neo-Darwinism. Con- 
sequently we can dismiss both the recapitulation- and 
the utility-theories, and urge instead the collection of 
as many facts as possible which may prove helpful in 
tracing the correspondence between individual and racial 
development. This means that one should constantly 
endeavour to support, to control, and to supplement the 
results of one branch of developmental investigation 
with results obtained in another branch; as, for instance, 


48 


THE RHYTHM OF DEVELOPMENT 


by comparing child-psychology with folk-psychology ; 
but one should never allow oneself to be led into the 
dogmatic construction of uniformities and dependencies. 
When material enough is at hand, one can then take up 
the problems of dependency which naturally arise *, 
without being in any wise hindered by theoretical 
presuppositions, 


§ 4—The Tempo and Rhythm of Development 


Development, or the succession of its different stages, 
is conditioned primarily, though not altogether (see § 5), 
by an inherited disposition. This statement holds true 
both for the organism as a whole and also for its 
dynamics and rhythm; because these, too, are con- 
ditioned by inherited disposition. What interests us 
here is the fact that disposition, and therefore develop- 
ment, may greatly vary in these respects. In point of 
fact, one is able to infer dispositional differences only 
on the ground that different individuals when placed in 
the same situation and amid the same surroundings 
exhibit quite different forms of development. Thus, 
for some individuals the rate of development is very 
rapid, while for others it is very slow; furthermore, 
some individuals show a greater regularity of develop- 
ment than do others. A slow rate of progress at the 
beginning may be followed by a period of very rapid 
development, and, conversely, an accelerated develop- 
ment may suddenly be arrested, as illustrated by infant- 
prodigies who fail to live up to their early promise. In 
general, these differences may be attributed to inherited 
disposition, though an environment which constantly 
offers strange and unchildlike problems may also 
contribute to hasten a child’s development and early 
maturation. On the other hand, an environment which 
offers no appropriate stimulation to activity may be a 
serious check to development. 

What has been said about development as a whole— 


49 D 


POINTS OF VIEW 


its tempo and its variations which appear as individual 
differences—holds true for the individual ; because here, 
too, we find variations in tempo, and a developmental 
rhythm consisting of periods in which slight advance- 
ment is noticeable from without, alternating with other 
periods in which development seems to take more rapid 
strides. Let us note at once, however, that periods of 
relative quiescence are not necessarily periods of stagna- 
tion ; but may only be intervals in which development 
has taken another form. The astonishing advancement 
often observed in a succeeding period would be quite 
impossible if the child had not accomplished a con- 
siderable amount of preliminary work during the time 
when he was apparently quiescent. As an analogy, one 
can imagine a heaping-up of a great mass of potential 
energy during these rest-periods, which thereafter is 
transformed into kinetic energy. Finally, it should be 
observed that the rhythm of development in a single 
individual is not the same in all his varied functions, 
There are periods in which one functional complex is 
engaged in a particularly active state of development, 
while the rest are comparatively quiescent. Indeed, 
one might be able to characterize whole periods of life 
with reference to the preferment of certain achievements, 
if only we were in possession of more extensive and more 
definite data than the present status of investigation 
affords. We must note, too, that developmental rhythm 
is subject to great individual variations; from which it 
is evident that the time of the appearance of any 
particular activity may greatly vary from individual 
to individual. All age-data have therefore but an 
approximate value for purposes of generalization ; 
relative statements, such as before and after, being, 
for the present at least, of much greater interest than 
absolute statements regarding the exact time at which 
a certain type of behaviour appears. 


50 


HEREDITY AND ENVIRONMENT 


§ 5—Heredity and Environment 


We have had occasion to refer repeatedly to con- 
ditions other than those of inherited disposition but 
affecting development—namely, the conditions set by 
the outer world, or environment. The question now 
arises: How are these two sets of conditions related to 
each other? This question, since it involves philosophi- 
cal, ethical, sociological, and pedagogical consequences, 
can not be answered off-hand; yet neither can we 
overlook the fundamental opposition of these two 
tendencies as they are embodied in the well-known 
theories of Heredity and Environment. According to 
the former theory, development is determined in all its 
important issues by an inherited predisposition ; whereas, 
according to the latter theory, this determination comes 
chiefly from environment. The same opposition is found 
in psychology between the rival positions of Nativism 
and Empiricism, according to which the quality of our 
perceptions—and especially those of space—is taken to 
be either an inborn function or a product of experience. 

In contrast to both these theories, Stern advances a. 
point of view which he calls the “convergence-theory,” 
and which plays an essential part in his philosophy of 
personality. “Mental development,” he writes, “is not 
a mere passive unfolding of inborn traits, neither is it 
a mere reception of external influences ; instead, it is a 
result of the convergence of both the internal oppor- 
tunities and the external conditions of development. 
One should not ask, concerning any function or trait, 
whether it originates from within or from without; but 
rather, what part of it is derived from within and what 
part from without; for both are constantly co-operat- 
ing in the work, though at times in varying degrees” 41, 

It is at once apparent that we can not side with 
either of these extreme theories of heredity or environ- 
ment; for we have already agreed that learning is 
essentially a type of development, and learning involves 


Sr 


POINTS OF VIEW 


the reaction of the individual to a definite situation 
wherein the reaction is certainly not unequivocally tied 
up with inherited dispositions. But before we can 
proceed we must inquire into the nature of learning, 
and it seems to me that we can not arrive even at a 
clear statement of the question—much less at a final 
decision between psychological empiricism and nativism 
—so long as the problems of experience itself, and of 
learning, have neither been solved, nor, indeed, for the 
most part, accepted as definite problems. 

Our aim, therefore, may be characterized by the 
statement that we are trying to investigate the facts 
which underlie the formation of all theories, and for 
this reason we must not allow ourselves to be hindered 
by the acceptance of any special theory. The concept 
of convergence advanced by Stern merely indicates a 
problem which, before it is solved must first be more 
clearly defined ; for at present we do not even know 
what is meant by saying that ‘a certain behaviour is 
conditioned from without.” 


§6—Mental and Bodily Development 


Mental development naturally goes hand in hand 
with the development of the bodily organism. Let us, 
then, briefly consider the very general connection which 
obtains between these two aspects of development. A 
few anatomico-physiological observations may be useful 
to us in this connection. In the foregoing chapter 
(pp. 22-3) we gave a very crude description and classi- 
fication of the central organ of the nervous system, 
explaining in particular the difference between the 
“old” and the “new” brain. We may now complete 
our sketch by going more into detail, and considering 
the microscopical structure of the nervous system. It 
is not our task, however, to furnish the reader with 
information upon this subject ; for that, reference should 
. be made to other books*. We shall therefore confine 


52 


MENTAL AND BODILY DEVELOPMENT 


ourselves to the most important facts needful in laying 
a basis for later considerations. 

We find nerves acting as mediators between the 
sense-organs and the brain, and likewise between the 
brain and the muscles. These nerves are fibres of 
varying and sometimes considerable length, and also 
of variable thickness. They are surrounded by a pro- 
tecting and insulating tissue. A nerve of this kind is 
not a uniform structure, but consists of a great number 
of separate, mutually isolated, fibres which are the real 
bearers of the process of conduction. These fibres may 
be strictly classified as sensory and motor, but not the 
whole nerves, since there are nerves containing both 
kinds of fibres; as, for instance, the trigeminal nerve— 
the fifth cranial—which occasions the skin-sensitivity 
of the head and also innervates the jaw musculature; or, 
again, the vagus nerve—the tenth cranial—which per- 
forms numerous functions involving, among others, the 
regulation of breathing, circulation, and digestion, Each 
fibre taken by itself has, however, but one function— 
sensory or motor; either it leads from the periphery to 
the centre, or from the centre to the periphery. In this 
way one distinguishes centripetal and centrifugal fibres. 
These, however, are not independent elements; for 
each leads to a nerve- or ganglion-cell, and these 
ganglion-cells exhibit great variations both of structure 
and size. The common feature of all is a greater or 
lesser number of fibrous processes; one of these pro- 
cesses, called the axzs-cylinder, being the same structure 
we have just referred to as the nerve-fibre. At its end 
this neurite divides into a fine net-work which closely 
invests either the muscle-tissue or the tendrils of another 
ganglion-cell. Besides the axis-cylinder, the ganglion- 
cell sends out still other processes, much shorter and 
very numerous, often forming a net-work of the finest 
ramifications. With this plexus the arborizations of the 
axis-cylinders of other ganglion-cells are in close con- 
nection. It has been discovered that in many respects 


53 


POINTS OF VIEW 


the ganglion-cell with all its processes forms a unit, 
called a neurone by Waldeyer. So the whole nervous 
system can be conceived as an organization of number- 
less neurones knit together with one another. Whether 
the connection between two neurones results from a 
mere contact in the fibrous net-work, or whether the 
fibrils distinguishable in the microscopic structure of 
the fibres form a continuous connection from neurone 
to neurone, is a matter which, though it has been under 
discussion for a long time, has not yet been decided. 
Without prejudice to this decision, the neurone may 
pass with us for a unit. 

We have already distinguished between centripetal 
and centrifugal fibres; we must now add a third sort, 
namely, those which connect one part of the brain 
with another. “The last, the fore proprie of the 
cortex, are very numerous in fully- developed brains, 
stretching everywhere from convolution to convolution, 
from the nearest to the farthest, binding whole lobes 
together ” 4, 

Likewise the two hemispheres are bound together 
through other collections of such fibres, called com- 
missures, the largest of which, the corpus callosum, is 
easily detected in each median section of the brain. 

We now come to our particular theme, the rela- 
tion between physical and mental development, which 
we shall first discuss from a phylogenetic point of 
view. 

a. “Whoever knows the structure of the brain in 
the animal-series will become convinced that the ap- 
pearance of new functions is always accompanied by 
the appearance of new parts, or by the enlargement of 
already existing parts, of the brain” “. Thus Edinger 
formulates as a principle of investigation the results of 
his long years of research. In the phylogenetic series 
of vertebrates, in which, as we have seen, the “old” 
brain gradually associates with itself a “new” brain, 
Edinger seeks to point out the functions which belong 


54 


MENTAL AND BODILY DEVELOPMENT 


to the new organ, by tracing the changes in function 
which parallel its enlargement. In differentiating the 
“old” from the “new” brain, and their corresponding 
functions, Edinger remarks not only that the functional 
activity increases enormously, but also that it takes on 
a new and qualitative departure, in that the behaviour 
of the higher animals appears to become more and 
more “intelligent.” Paralleling this change of activity, 
according to Edinger, morphological changes in the 
brain are indicated by an increase of the areas lying 
between and in front of the sensory centres, and also by 
the growth of intercortical pathways. The investiga- 
tion of these parts of the fore-brain is easy, and, indeed, 
these parts “clearly increase in size as the animal in- 
creases in its capacity to guide its observation and 
activity by intelligence” *. Man is peculiarly character- 
ized by the development of his frontal lobes, whereas 
an arrested development of these lobes goes hand in 
hand with idiocy. 

There can be no doubt that Edinger discovered a 
valuable heuristic principle which he has been able to 
use successfully. In the course of this book, however, 
we shall be led to a quite different conclusion as to 
the nature of these activities, especially as regards 
intelligence, but also as regards the nature of the func- 
tions performed by various parts of the brain. 

6. While the “new” brain and the ne-encephalic 
activities increase constantly in the ascending series 
of vertebrate evolution, the “old” brain is at the same 
time losing its independence. The higher an animal 
stands in the series, the less it can function without the 
“new” brain. Although the cerebrum has often been 
removed from living animals, so that their behaviour 
without it might be studied, there is scarcely a reported 
case of a human being born without a cortex which 
has survived the first day after birth. 

A single instance is known of an infant lacking a 
cerebrum which lived, in fact, for three and three- 


55 


POINTS OF VIEW 


quarters years. This case is reported by L. Edinger 
and B. Fischer ‘**, who have compared the behaviour 
of this child with that of one of the dogs operated upon 
by Rothmann, which lived also without a cerebrum 
for more than three years. “The dog soon learned to 
run and even to jump a hurdle, whereas the child lay 
contracted and almost motionless for three and three- 
quarters years, never making any attempt to sit upright. 
Neither did he attempt to grasp or hold anything in 
his hands. Only in his face could a certain mobility 
be noted, when occasionally the features were painfully 
distorted. Both the lips and the tongue were used 
together in sucking and in taking nourishment from a 
spoon. The dog, which at the beginning had to be 
fed like a child, later learned to feed himself so well 
that it was only necessary to put the dish before 
his nose and he would empty it. Nothing of the 
great restlessness which dominated the dog after the 
restraint exercised by the cortex had been removed 
by the operation, making him constantly run about, 
was ever apparent in the child. Only a continual 
crying was observed from the second year onwards, and 
this could be stilled by patting him, especially on 
the head. 

“The acts of bodily excretion, which took place in 
a normal manner in the dog, were accomplished by the 
child without change of position; nor did he in any 
way indicate when his napkin was wet. With the dog, 
sleep alternated with waking, whereas the child seemed 
always to be sleeping. The dog could not taste, smell, 
or hear, nor could any evidence of vision be found. 
This was likewise the case with the child; yet both 
responded with optical reflexes, and at times the eyes 
would close in a cramp-like manner under stimulation 
from light. It was not possible to find a single mental 
reaction in the child, or in any way to get in touch 
with him, so as to teach him anything; but to a certain 

56 


MENTAL AND BODILY DEVELOPMENT 


degree the dog could be taught, and he also gave 
evidence of moods, fits of temper, and periods of con- 
tented quiescence” *”, 

We shall return in the next chapter to the child 
without a brain, but the quotations already given show 
clearly enough how much more efficient are the same 
palz-encephalic parts of the brain in dogs than they 
are in man, and how much man depends upon his 
“new” brain. We have but to compare the marked 
reduction in the dog’s efficiency after operation with 
that of a fish which naturally subsists by means of the 
“old” brain alone, in order to have our previous thesis 
fully confirmed. Among all the animals man comes 
into the world the most helpless, and passes through 
the longest period of childhood. Between these facts 
and man’s dependence upon his cortex some relation- 
ship must exist. 

This leads us to ontogenests. At birth the human 
brain is macroscopically ready ; but not so in its micro- 
scopic structure. For the most part, the fibres of the 
brain possess no sheathing at the time of birth, and are 
therefore incapable of functioning. The maturation of 
the fibres goes on throughout the first months of life. 
At the beginning medullation takes place principally in 
those fibres which extend downwards from the cortex, 
and upon whose functioning the voluntary motion of 
the limbs is dependent ; thence it extends to such fibres 
as connect the cortical areas with one another. The 
“new” brain of the newly-born child is consequently in 
a very unfinished state, and on the basis of the informa- 
tion acquired in the last chapter, we can now explain 
the helplessness of the child at birth by this fact. Yet 
the child, far more than the animal, is directly de- 
pendent upon the functioning of the “new” brain. 
Despite its unfinished state the human brain is relatively 
large and heavy even at birth; for the weight of the 
brain is already over 300 gr., or nearly one-fourth the 


57 


POINTS OF VIEW 


weight of the adult organ. In proportion to the weight 
of the body it is indeed heavier than in adult life, as the 
following figures will show: 


Child I Weight of brain I 


| 
6to8 Weight of body 30 to 35 AG 








The weight of the brain increases very rapidly, being 
doubled after nine months, and tripled before the end 
of three years; but in the course of time the rate of 






Two Thirds 


of Totai Growth 


Weight in Grams 


OFF (2°53 GAYS 6) ASP S AO MENG I4E ES VIG A7e Ss (9rZe 
Age in Years 


[After Buhler. 
FIG: 2. 


growth decreases more and more, until the full weight 
has been attained at about the middle of the third 
decennium. (See Figure 2.) 

Increase in weight parallels the development of be- 
haviour. Weight is therefore a crude unit of measure 
for development, and rapid growth no doubt correlates 
chiefly with the first cultivation of bodily movements ; 
although other functions also undergo their most rapid 
development at the beginning. A splendid example of 
the parallel development of organ and function is found 
in the cerebellum, the organ which controls bodily equi- 
librium. That all parts of the brain do not develop in 
the same rhythm, and that different parts have different 
epochs of particularly rapid growth, are facts or laws of 


58 


MENTAL AND BODILY DEVELOPMENT 


mental development to which reference has already been 
made. Now the cerebellum grows very slowly in the 
first five months, then suddenly it begins to develop 
faster, until finally it attains its greatest rate of growth 
in the last half of the first and in the first half of the 
second year, reaching its full size towards the end of the 
fourth year, The time at which its greatest increase 
is indicated, at the end of the first year, is also the time 
when the child is learning to sit and to walk—activities 
requiring the effective regulation of bodily equilibrium 
which the cerebellum supplies. 


59 


CHAPTER III 


THE STARTING-POINT OF DEVELOPMENT ; 
THE NEW-BORN INFANT AND PRIMI- 
TIVE MODES OF BEHAVIOUR 


§ 1—A First Survey of Behaviour. Physiological 
Correspondences 


BEFORE undertaking a consideration of development 
we must know its starting-point. or us the starting- 
point will be the human being who has just come into » 
the world. Embryonic development lies without the 
scope of our inquiry, because the mental development of 
a human being can not be studied until he has become 
an independent individual. In this chapter, then, we 
shall have to deal with the behaviour of the newly-born 
child. 

We must consider first of all the crude features of the 
infant’s behaviour, and ask: What are the first actions 
of a human being who has just come into the world? 
Aside from feeding, and the vegetative functions con- 
nected with it, of which we shall soon speak in greater 
detail, we note a series of bodily movements, including 
the extension and bending of the arms and legs (these 
are often unco-ordinated, that is, the right and left sides 
of the body act independently); the stretching of the 
limbs upon wakening ; movements made in a warm bath, 
which movements may spread over the whole body; 
eye-movements of all kinds; and the most striking of 
all expressions—crying, whose immediate cause it is 
frequently impossible to eli though usually it 

0 


PHYSIOLOGICAL CORRESPONDENCES 


can be connected with a situation in which the child 
finds something painful to himself; as when he is in 
need of nourishment, or when the environment acts 
directly upon his body through pressure, temperature, 
moisture, etc. This enumeration is by no means com- 
plete, nor is it limited to the moment of birth, but it 
may be considered as covering roughly the first two 
weeks after birth. The fact that the new-born child 
spends twenty hours and more each day in sleep is at 
least as characteristic of his kind as are any of the 
movements mentioned. His sleep is not one long 
continuous slumber, but is divided into many short 
periods broken by other short periods of waking. 
Another general characteristic is that all movement of 
the limbs takes place slowly. Biihler likens this to the 
movements of our fingers when they are half rigid with 
the cold. 

Both of these last-named peculiarities in the behaviour 
of new-born infants are elucidated by certain physio- 
logical facts. In a prolonged series of experiments, 
Soltmann* stimulated the muscles and motor nerves 
of new-born and adult mammals (dogs and rabbits) by 
artificial electrical means, and found a characteristic 
difference between the reactions of young and mature 
animals. Inthe new-born: (1) the irritability was much 
less; in general, a much stronger current being needed 
to produce a muscular response; (2) the form of the 
muscular contraction was different, in the young the 
contraction and release were slow instead of being sharp 
and sudden; (3) the onset of fatigue was found to be 
very rapid; (4) the muscles of the young were more 
highly susceptible to tetany. When a muscle is stimu- 
lated repeatedly by intensive shocks, unless the frequency 
be too great, a contraction corresponds to each stimula- 
tion. But as the frequency of stimulation is gradually 
increased, a limit is reached at which the muscle no 
longer responds to separate stimuli, but remains per- 


manently contracted in a condition of tetanus. This 
61 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


limit lies between 70-80 stimulations per second for 
the adult animal, but in the new-born it is as low as 
16-18. We may without hesitation apply these results 
to the human being. We can then understand the 
slowness of the infant’s movement from Soltmann’s 
second result; the great need of sleep from his third; 
and the capacity to regain sleep so readily from his 
first. We adults, on the contrary, find great difficulty 
in falling asleep during the daytime, even when very 
tired, because of the many stimuli constantly influenc- 
ing our sense-organs. But in the case of infants, their 
sensitivity being less, such inhibitions are much weaker. 

Furthermore, I believe an analogy can be traced 
between the conduct of the newly-born infant and 
Soltmann’s fourth result, though this analogy refers to’ 
the sensory and not to the motor aspect of tetanus. By 
stimulating sense-organs periodically one can obtain the 
same kind of uniformity in the phenomenal effect that 
is found in the tetanus resulting from recurrent muscle- 
stimulation. Take the most familiar and thoroughly 
investigated instance of this—the sense of sight. If 
one casts light upon the eye by means of a rotating 
disk, or colour-wheel, half white and half black, for 
definite periods of time separated by intervals of com- 
plete darkness, a slow alternation between bright and 
dark is observed when the rate of rotation is slow; but 
if the frequency is increased a new phenomenon occurs: 
the disk begins to flicker. A still further increase in 
the frequency of rotation brings us to a limit beyond 
which the rapidly revolving disk of black and white 
sectors appears like a uniform gray, completely at rest. 
The occurrence of this uniform impression is known 
as fusion, and fusion corresponds to tetanus. But the 
correspondence of these two results extends still further ; 
for the laws upon which these effects depend—the con- 
ditions influencing the limits of tetanus and fusion— 
are the same“. Therefore, the inference may be drawn 
that the critical frequency for fusion—that is, the lowest 


62 


PHYSIOLOGICAL CORRESPONDENCES 


frequency that will just produce it, which in the case of 
adults is about 50 periods per second *°—might be very 
much lower for infants. This fact may be difficult to 
prove; but at all events nothing is now known to con- 
tradict such an inference. 

The results of certain investigations which I con- 
ducted jointly with P. Cermak, showed that a close 
relationship exists between this phenomenon of fusion 
and the visual perception of movement. I will only 
indicate the fact that when a movement is made too 
rapidly it loses the phenomenal characteristic of seen- 
motion; and what we then perceive is a motionless 
streak of light, instead of a moving point®!. The 
laws here involved are the same as those controlling 
fusion. 

In conclusion, we may infer from Soltmann’s fourth 
statement that in the perception of movement the limen 
at which movement disappears is more quickly reached 
(that is, at a lower speed), in the case of new-born 
infants than it is in adults, an inference which fits the 
known facts perfectly. Although authorities are at 
variance as to the time when a child begins to follow 
a moving object with his gaze, they are agreed that the 
child can accomplish this act only if the movement of 
the object takes place slowly. Up to the present, these 
observations have been referred chiefly or wholly to the 
development of the motor side of this performance—the 
arousal of the eye-movements which follow the moving 
object, and which are supposed to result from the succes- 
sive stimulation of different points on the retina. That 
is to say, the explanation was supposed to be furnished 
by a “connecting mechanism” operating between the 
sensory and the motor parts. But perhaps the sensory 
performance itself should be included in the explanation 
In as much as we shall soon become acquainted with a 
conception of this “connection” which establishes a very 
close relationship between the sensory and the motor 
aspects of the optical Mt I, for my part,am ready 

3 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


to conclude that, as a matter of fact, infants do have far 
less capacity than adults to see movements, and that 
this deficiency is directly related to the more ready 
onset of tetanus in the young. 

In this connection a question arises. If our assump- 
tion regarding the defective motor-vision of new-born 
infants is correct, it appears that we are dealing with a 
performance which improves during the course of life. 
Shall we then conclude that experience accounts for 
this change? By no means, for if our other assumption, 
which would bring this fact into relation with the facts 
of muscle- and nerve-physiology, is correct, it is not 
“experience” which accounts for the gradual increase 
of the limit from 15 to 80 periods of stimulation per 
second at which tetanus takes place, but, evidently, a 
physiological alteration of the organ which, in the 
preceding chapter, we have called maturation, 

The process of maturation would then be the occasion 
for development in the perception of movement, and 
there is no reason to suppose that this development 
can be referred to experience alone. Furthermore, 
we have here a most instructive example of the possi- 
bility’ mentioned in the last chapter of interpreting 
development in terms of maturation. We shall meet 
with this problem again, when we come to speak of 
eye-movements. 


§ 2—Is the New-Born Infant a Purely “ Old-Brain” 
Type of Being ? 


We already know that most of the connections be- 
tween the “old” and “new” brain of the new-born 
infant are neither medullated nor conductile. In addition, 
Soltmann obtained the following results: Until the 
tenth day after birth no sort of movement of the body- 
or head-musculature could be aroused by electrical 
stimulation of the puppy’s cortex, though with older 
animals movements were readily produced in this way. 
Furthermore, destruction of the motor cortical areas, 


64 


NATURE OF NEW-BORN INFANT 


which in older animals results in a severe disturbance 
of movement, produced no interruption or paralysis of 
the muscular apparatus during these first days of life. 
When one considers these facts and the points noted 
above with reference to human beings, one is tempted 
to infer that the new-born human being is also a purely 
palz-encephalic creature. It has also been observed 
that the behaviour of children lacking a cerebrum 
(anencephalic) does not appear to differ in any im- 
portant respect from that of normal children. For 
instance, children without a cerebrum cry at birth just 
as normal infants do. Yet the case described by Edinger 
and Fischer, to which reference was made in the fore- 
going chapter, does not seem to agree with such a 
conclusion.“ “The child accepted the breast immedi- 
ately, and from the first nursed in the right way; but 
really, the child was awake only at the time of nursing, 
and before it would nurse it had to be wakened. Other- 
wise, it always lay as if ‘in sleep.’ It was never heard 
to cry during the first year, but only occasionally to 
utter a low tone.”*® From this account it appears that 
the behaviour of the Edinger child must have been 
somewhat different from that of a normal infant, even 
from the very first days of its life, because in normal 
infants a facial expression of contentment can at times 
be observed (Preyer), whereas Edinger’s infant did not 
indicate the slightest facial expression during its entire 
life. It therefore seems probable to me that in healthy 
new-born children the “new” brain already plays some 
part in determining their behaviour, although we can 
not yet tell how. Soltmann’s investigations with dogs 
thus furnish an inconclusive parallel, because, as we 
have seen, the human being is dependent upon his 
“new” brain to a much greater extent than the dog. 

One can very soon discern the growing influence of 
the “new” brain in the course of normal develop- 
ment; which is but another instance of the process of 
maturation, 


65 E 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


§ 3—Jmpulsive Movements 


When we consider the movements of the new-born 
infant described in § 1, we find that few of them are 
correlated with definite external stimuli or with deter- 
minable situations; hence they do not appear as 
reactions, but give one the impression of spontaneity. 
In this sense they are aimless or purposeless, in as much 
as they do not attain a recognizable end. These move- 
ments have therefore been distinguished as a group, 
termed by Preyer “impulsive movements.” Their physio- 
logical origin is also. implied by this distinction. Preyer 
regarded them as a continuation of embryonic move- 
ments, “which the foetus already executes, and earlier 
than any others, at a time when, as it can not possibly 
be incited to movement by peripheral stimulus, its 
centripetal paths are not yet practicable, or not yet 
formed at all, and the ganglionic cells from which the 
excitations proceed are not yet developed.” Since, 
however, no movement can occur without a stimulation 
of the motor nerves, he concludes that internal physio- 
logical processes, such as nourishment and growth, must 
occasion these impulsive movements; a conclusion in 
which Stern agrees*’. This view is generally accepted 
in so far as it states the fact that these movements, 
unlike the spontaneous responses of adults, are aroused 
neither by external stimulation nor by excitations of 
the cortex. In their description, however, one must 
add, as both Stern and Thorndike have remarked, that 
objectively considered, they are by no means useless. 
On the contrary, their function has a considerable value 
to the individual in promoting the growth and matura- 
tion of their respective organs®*. Stern calls this a 
pre-practice value, while Thorndike, in accordance with 
his Theory of Utility, which was discussed in the last 
chapter, regards this value as the explanation of their 
arousal and conservation in the development of the race. 
Thorndike proceeds, then, i argue against a sharp dis- 

6 


THE REFLEX-SYSTEM 


tinction between this group of movements and any 
other ; and, indeed, it is true that impulsive movements 
ought not to be regarded as though they were entirely 
independent of the situation, or purely arbitrary in their 
nature. If one could fully understand the total situation, 
which in instances like these mainly involves the con- 
ditions and processes of the nervous system, one would 
find that all impulsive movements are strictly regulated. 
This, of course, needs to be emphasized, but a certain 
distinction still remains, in as much as the impulsive 
movements are specifically attributable to inner situa- 
tions, whereas other movements are expressly conditioned 
by external situations. Yet even when so considered 
the distinction is not very important; for it matters 
little whether a child cries because it needs food or 
because its leg is being pinched. We shall pass on, 
therefore, to a consideration of the more significant 
behaviour which occurs in response to definite external 
stimuli, adding that in the course of development these 
so-called impulsive movements retreat more and more 
into the background. 


§ 4—The Reflex-System 


Into a second group we may place a type of behaviour 
which occurs in response to external stimuli. These 
movements have a number of peculiarities: (1) The 
reactions as well as the stimuli are relatively simple. 
This is not an exact description, because it is not easy 
to define what is meant by “relatively simple.” But 
the statement will serve to distinguish these movements 
from a third group yet to be considered. (2) The 
movements of this group take place with extraordinary 
uniformity. That is, the situation remaining the same 
identical stimuli always produce the same reaction, un- 
less, indeed, the irritability of the organism deviates 
from its normal level, toward hypersensitivity on the 
one hand, or toward fatigue on the other. (3) Variation 


67 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


of the stimulus in a certain direction, such as a gradual 
increase of intensity, does not always produce an altera- 
tion of the reaction in the same direction; for the 
reaction may suddenly become qualitatively different, 
sometimes because an organ hitherto quiescent has been 
called into action. (4) These movements belong to the 
inherited disposition of the individual, and do not have 
to be learned. (5) They are of the greatest utility to 
the organism, consisting, in general, of protective, defen- 
sive, or adjustive movements, as is obvious from any 
description of their separate types. (6) Still another 
uniformity may be mentioned. The reaction can be 
facilitated or inhibited when, in addition to the normal 
stimulus, another stimulus is applied at some other 
point. We call these movements reflexive, or, briefly, 
reflexes, and an example would be the contraction of the 
pupil when the eye is stimulated by light. 

Before entering upon a discussion of the reflexes of 
the new-born infant, let us glance at some of the ideas 
which have been advanced in their explanation. We 
might ask the question: How must an organ be con- 
structed whose function is destined to be reflexive? 
The usual answer to this question is very simple. We 
know two kinds of nerves, anatomically and physiologi- 
cally—namely, sensory and motor nerves. Furthermore, 
we know that sensory nerves possess a terminal arboriza- 
tion which, either directly or through the mediation of 
other neurones, approaches the terminals of the motor 
nerves; and we know, finally, that an injury at any 
point of this more or less complicated series of neurones 
involved in the arousal of a movement interferes with 
the movement itself. The function of the reflex also 
indicates the double nature of the stimulation and 
response. The organ of the reflexes is therefore quite 
obviously a more or less complicated chain of neurones 
which, in the limiting case, may consist of but two 
neurones. Always beginning with a sensory neurone 
and ending with a motor neurone, this apparatus is called 


68 


THE REFLEX-SYSTEM 


a reflex-arc. One should not overlook the fact, however, 
that these reflex-arcs are not isolated mechanisms, but 
are interconnected with other parts of the nervous 
system, as can be demonstrated both by the facts con- 
cerning facilitation and inhibition already mentioned, 
and also by the fact that many reflexes can be voluntarily 
influenced ; as, for instance, sneezing can be repressed 
voluntarily for a longer or shorter time. 

Although investigators, perhaps, have not always been 
conscious of it, current theories of reflex-action have 
shaped their views concerning the reflex-organ in a very 
definite way. It has been customary to consider the 
reflex-arc as composed of a centripetal and a centrifugal 
branch, these being regarded as independent parts, while 
the characteristic feature of the apparatus was the con- 
nection that exists between them. A reflex-mechanism 
is then conceived as a pre-determined, inherited connection 
between afferent (receptor) and efferent (effector) path- 
ways. Such a formulation of the original data is, of 
course, readily inferred. Anatomically the parts can 
be separated, and in accordance with the principles of 
the assumption, one can easily imagine a mechanical 
scheme of explanation. Such a scheme also satisfies 
our reasoning to a considerable extent, because it is 
readily comprehended and thus seems to be a good 
explanation. 

But before we accept this hypothesis we should look 
more closely into the functional aspects of the mechanism 
involved. What happens in the reflex-arc when a reflex 
movement ismade? Obviously the energy arising from 
the external stimulus can not be simply transformed 
into a nervous process. Such an assumption would be 
untenable for any kind of nervous action. The effect— 
the movement of reaction—stands in altogether too loose 
a relation with the energy of the stimulus to warrant such 
an assumption. The only possibility is that the stimulus 
releases energy which lies stored up in the nerve-cells, 
At the same time the stimulus may co-operate very 


69 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


materially in determining how much and what kind of 
energy shall be released ; but the only energy available 
is the energy already present in the nerve-cells™. This 
conclusion holds true for the motor as well as for the 
sensory nerves. If I stimulate a motor nerve directly 
by electricity, it is not the electric shock itself which is 
conducted to the muscle, causing it to contract, for here 
again we have only a release of energy. Assuming, then, 
the independence of the centripetal and the centrifugal 
neurones, the reflex takes place as follows: Thestimulus 
releases a certain amount of energyin the sensory neurone, 
which, passing along the neurone, acts in turn as a release 
for the energy stored up in the motor neurones; the 
relation between the processes in the sensory and motor 
neurones being of the same order as that between the 
stimulus and the sensory process. At any rate, the 
stimulus can have nothing to do with the movement of 
reaction. While such an apparatus may be called a 
mechanism, the teleological character of reflex-movements 
is not accounted for until still further assumptions are 
made, which can be better understood after we have 
discussed a third group of movements. 

To complete the picture of the reflex, we should add 
that reactions may in their turn stimulate sensory nerves, 
thus apprising the nervous system that a movement has 
been made, and what kind of a movement it was. This 
does not mean that we ourselves must become aware of 
it; for many reflexes take place altogether without con- 
sciousness, just as other movements do when their 
reflex-arcs have been cut off from the “new” brain. An 
instance of this was described in the first chapter—the 
case of the woman who gave birth without being aware 
of it. 

We have emphasized the strong points in the theory 
of the reflex-arc, and have also called attention to a 
‘deficiency in it. Further defects will become evident as 
we turn now to consider the reflexes evinced by new- 
born infants. 


70 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


§ 5—The Reflexes of New-Born Infants 


From the very outset, all manner of reflexes take 
place upon stimulating any of the infant’s sense-organs. 
These reflexes have already been subjected to thorough 
investigation over a long period of time. We shall here 
limit ourselves to a few examples. 

(a) Eye-Reflexes—The pupillary reflex is bilateral from 
the very first; that is, when light is directed into one 
eye only, both pupils contract. The lids of the eyes 
also function from the beginning by closing whenever 
the eyes are stimulated with light; at first, however, 
they do not close when an object approaches the eye 
rapidly. A much disputed problem is that of the eye- 
movements which adapt the eyes in their position and 
adjustment with reference to the outer world, so as to 
provide the individual at all times with the most effective 
use of his organs of sight. In us adults these movements 
occur automatically, like reflexes, and they are co- 
ordinated; in the new-born infant, however, they are 
sometimes entirely unco-ordinated. Indeed, the infant 
can readily move one eye, while keeping the other one 
perfectly still. For the present it is well to separate the 
two problems here involved; first, the problem of the 
direction of the eyes toward a certain object, or fivation ; 
and secondly, the problem of co-operation, or the co- 
ordination of thetwoeyes. In fixation, the eye is turned 
until the fixated object falls upon the place of clearest 
vision lying at the centre of the retina (the fovea cent- 
ralis), while the lens assumes a degree of curvature 
such that a distinct image of the object is focused 
upon the retina (accommodation). Co-ordination, on the 
other hand, consists in keeping the accommodation 
and fixation always the same in both eyes (this is called 
convergence). 

Do eye-movements, then, belong among the inherited 
reflexes, or are they acquired? First let us consider 
co-ordination ; two diametrically opposed theories have 


71 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


been here advanced. According to Hering, “the co- 
ordination of movements in the two eyes depends upon 
an inborn arrangement, and not upon exercise. So far 
as concerns their movements in the service of vision, 
both eyes may be taken together as constituting a 
single organ”®. It is not as though each eye moved 
by itself, because a single impulse suffices to occasion 
a reaction in both eyes, just as if the organs were a 


double-eye. 
On the other hand, Helmholtz observes “ that although 
the necessity of moving both eyes together . . . appears 


to be something which can not be overcome in normal 
vision . . . it can be shown, however, that the regularity 
of this connection is a result of practice” ™. 

We have before us two opposed theories which have 
dominated the whole psychology of space-perception. 
From the one point of view the essential feature of 
behaviour—which is, in our case, eye-movements—is 
explicable on the basis of pre-determined, inherited dis- 
positions. Individual life, practice, experience, all serve 
in the perfection, but introduce no new forms, of be- 
haviour. In accordance with the other theory, however, 
the essential features of behaviour are conceived to be 
a result of practice. The first theory is called xatzvism 
and the second, empiricism. 

Of the various arguments that have been advanced 
on both sides, we shall consider in the main only those 
that have a bearing upon our particular theme—the 
psychology of infancy. The chief argument of Helm- 
holtz rests upon the fact that one can learn in some 
measure to destroy the co-ordination of the two eyes. 
The inference is then drawn that what can be altered by 
practice, must also have been acquired through practice. 
This argument, however, is not at all convincing; for it 
is unnecessary to suppose that an inherited co-ordination 
must involve an insurmountable compulsion towards 
behaviour. It is easy enough to demonstrate that other 
inherited modes of response are modifiable through 


72 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


practice. Hering, for instance, notes that one can train 
a four-footed animal to adopt a pace unnatural to its 
kind, as does the trotting horse. 

The empiricist in his turn might seek to support his 
views by teference to the unco-ordinated eye-movements 
of the infant, were it not for the fact that co-ordination 
has been observed even in the first day after birth—a 
thing which could not happen if each eye were quite 
independent of the other in its reaction to light ; because, 
apart from the fact that no adjustments of fixation take 
place during the first days after birth, one can screen 
one of the infant’s eyes without interfering at all with its 
co-ordinated eye-movements®. This fact becomes even 
more convincing as a support of nativism, in as much 
as the new-born infant often moves both hands or both 
legs at once, and when these movements are co-ordinated 
at all they always take place symmetrically—that is, in 
opposite directions ; never in the same direction. The 
hands, for instance, are moved towards one another or 
apart from one another, but never simultaneously to the 
right or to the left. Indeed, Hering calls attention to 
the fact that it is not easy even for an adult to move the 
hands quickly to and fro at the same time in the same 
direction. Let the reader try this experiment for him- 
self and he will be astonished to find how difficult it is. 
On the other hand, even infants can move their eyes in 
the same direction with the greatest ease at every turn 
of the gaze from right to left, or from left to right. Con- 
sequently the co-ordination of the eyes can not be 
altogether a result of practice, but must have its founda- 
tion in an inherited disposition. In support of this 
conclusion it may be added that unco-ordinated eye- 
movements usually occur under conditions favourable 
to impulsive movements, such as those observed when 
the child is placed in a warm bath. Likewise in older 
children, unco-ordinated eye- movements have been 
observed when they are asleep. Furthermore, an experi- 
ment with animals, involving direct stimulation of the 


73 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


corpora quadrigemina, a nucleus of the “old” - brain, 
always results in co-ordinated eye-movements. 

From this last fact, the inference may be drawn that 
co-ordinated eye-movements are called forth by the 
central organ of the brain, and that atypical, non-co- 
ordinated movements have a quite different origin, and 
have nothing specifically to do with vision®. If we 
recall what has already been said regarding impulsive 
movements, we shall find a warrant for adding the unco- 
ordinated eye-movements to this group of responses. 

Our conclusion is that an extreme empiricism certainly 
can not be maintained, since inherited disposition must 
play a part in the co-ordinated movements of the eyes. 
So far, at least, agreement may be said to have been 
reached by all investigators. But the question remains 
unanswered as to how large a part inheritance plays in 
the co-ordination of the eyes, and to how great an extent 
practice and experience contribute their influence—a 
question which is apparently unanswerable at the present 
time”, 

Let us turn, then, to a consideration of the problem of 
fixation. Here the case is different, because ordinarily 
one finds no evidence of visual fixation in the irregular 
wandering of the newly-born infant’s eyes. Only after 
the second week does the visual world appear to exercise 
a definite influence upon the infant’s eye-movement. 

If, at about this time, a glittering or lighted object is 
brought before the child’s eyes, its gaze ceases to wander 
the moment the object is directly in the line of vision; 
the eyes become fixated and the child then stares at the 
object. This behaviour occupies the child profoundly, 
Under certain circumstances the infant can even be 
induced in this way to stop crying. This “ passive” 
fixation—so-called because it is produced by an inter- 
ruption of movement—persists for several weeks, being 
followed by an “active” fixation which appears for the 
first time about a week after passive fixation. Active 
fixation can be demonstrated in two ways: (1) When 


74 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


an impressive object is introduced into the periphery of 
the child’s field of vision from a position where it was 
invisible, at once there occur movements of the eyes 
fixating the object. The eyes must then assume an 
entirely different position in order that the object may 
now be focused upon the fovea of each of them. Or 
(2) one can induce the child to stare, as described 
above, and then slowly move the object being stared 
at to one side. The child then follows the object with 
his gaze. I can not agree with Biihler that these two 
experiments amount to the same thing; for in the first 
one the stimulus is a stationary object lying at one side; 
while in the second it is a moving object in the centre 
of vision. Although it may be quite true that even 
adults follow a movement with the gaze by fits and 
starts, so that the eye is always following small dis- 
placements of the object from the middle toward one 
side or the other, still a moving object is never the 
same as an object at rest. The conditions of movement 
are therefore different in the two cases. 

At any rate, an active fixation is now possible, 
although it may not be perfect at first. For instance, 
the eye-movements occasionally overshoot the mark, or 
fall short of it. 

J. B. Watson has recently reported some experi- 
ments * in which about twenty infants were tested from 
the first day after birth by exposure to light in a dark 
room. The tests show that when conditions are favour- 
able, the eyes turn towards the source of light whether 
it be at the right, left, above, or below. The test-light 
was moved upon the arm of a perimeter, whose radius 
was one-half a metre, in a room otherwise dark. Un- 
fortunately, the description of the tests does not indicate 
whether the light was moved from an initial position at 
the centre, or was first exposed laterally. 

The result was that only two of the twenty infants— 
one of which could not be kept awake—failed to give 
a positive reaction, All the rest reacted frequently, 


75 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


though not always, even when the light was removed 
as far as 20° from the central position. It was noted, 
however, that lateral eye-movements were more com- 
plete than up-and-down movements. While Watson 
does not maintain that a true fixation is implied in 
these tests, it is obvious that his experiments deal with 
an early stage of this process, 

Both nativists and empiricists can base arguments 
upon these facts in support of their respective points of 
view. The empiricist can refer to the gradual im- 
provement of the act of fixation in comparison with its 
initial imperfection ; while the nativist can call attention 
to the fact that the time taken for learning this act 
would be much too short—considering the difficulty of 
the task—were there not already present some inherited 
foundation, such as appears to be indicated by Watson’s 
tests. Thus, to the empiricist the observed develop- 
ment is regarded as a process of learning; while the 
nativist regards it as a process of maturation. 

Because of this conflict, investigators now tend to 
accept both factors and to admit that inheritance and 
acquisition are alike involved without attempting to 
limit the participation of either ®. 

But what does it mean to say that the movements of 
fixation result from an inborn pattern; or, in other 
words, that they are true reflexes? The behaviour con- 
sists in turning the eye so that a stimulus anywhere in 
the field of vision will be brought to its centre; or, 
stated differently, an image of a luminous point any- 
where on the periphery of the retina acts as a stimulus 
for movement which brings the point to a focus upon 
the fovea. “When carefully examined, these processes 
reveal a complicated and finely differentiated system of 
interconnections between the impressions of light upon 
separate points of the retina and the specialized im- 
pulses of eye-movements. Strictly speaking, a different 
movement must arise from every retinal point; shere- 
fore, every fibre of the optical nerve must have a different 


76 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


central connection with the motor nerves which innervate 
eye-movements”"™, This statement of Biihler agrees 
entirely with what we have already learned about the 
reflex-apparatus, but the conditions must actually be 
much more complicated, as the following consideration 
will show. Assume that the gaze of a child is first of 
all directed straight ahead upon a point A (see Fig. 3). 
There appears now in the same plane a 
point of light at B on the right. Theeyes A ai 
will then move so that this point falls upon 
the fovea. If now another point of light 
B, is introduced vertically above B, the Ps e 
eyes will move upward and fixate it. Let a B 
us assume that the eyes are again directed 
upon A, after which a point A, is flashed 
vertically above it. In passing from A to A, the 
same retinal position will be affected which received 
B, when the gaze was first directed upon B. Again 
there is an upward movement of the eyes to effect the 
fixation of A,; but although in this case A, stimulates 
the same retinal point which in the case of the first 
retinal movement from B to B, was stimulated by the 
point B,, yet the two movements are not at all the 
same, because the movement from A to A, and that 
from B to B, require different innervations of the eye- 
muscles. What is shown in this special case may be 
stated in general terms as follows: the innervations 
which the eye-muscles undergo in movements of fixation 
are determined, not only by the position of the retinal 
points which arouse the movement, but also by the 
pre-existing position of the eyes. It therefore follows 
that every sensory fibre must possess not merely one 
connection with the motor nerves, but as many as may 
be required for all possible positions of the eyes. This 
means an enormous multiplicity of connections, among 
which those that function in a special instance must 
always be determined by the position of the eyes. 
Referring again to our example, it appears that the 


77 


Fic. 3. 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


movements from A to A, and from B to B, are actually 
different. The optical, centripetal impulses which 
release the two pass through different connections, 
and yet each time the movement leads to the same 
end. In other words, as a result of both movements a 
point placed above the original point of fixation becomes 
itself the fixation-point. Aninternal connection between 
the same end and the different means whereby it is 
attained can not exist in the way the general theory of 
reflex-action has provided; for although the reaction is 
in each case linked with its stimulus, the sensory and 
motor processes involved are quite heterogeneous. Ac- 
cordingly, the question arises in our minds whether any 
such system of connections can be assumed to be at all 
probable. And this question persists and, indeed, 
becomes more insistent when we attempt to explain the 
movements of fixation in purely empirical terms; for, 
as we Shall see, according to current teaching learning 
is nothing more than the establishment of these specific 
connections between neurones. The difference between 
Nativism and Empiricism does not touch this point, 
since it refers not to the presence, but only to the 
establishment of connections, whereas our doubts are 
directed upon their very existence. Must we then give 
up any attempt to explain eye-movements? Not at 
all. We must, however, introduce a new and quite a 
different hypothesis. We have simply come to a point 
where modern psychology must relinquish some of its 
older views, and accept instead certain new principles 
to which we shall have occasion to recur again and again 
in this book. Among other things, these principles 
will also be found to have a significant bearing upon 
the theory of learning. 

Going back to the older theory of eye-movements, 
we find in the optical sensorium and motorium (I 
believe these terms will be readily comprehended) two 
distinct types of apparatus which are bound together 
simply by a multiplicity of connections. Consequently 


78 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


sensory and motor processes in the optical field will 
have as much or as little to do with one another as 
would be the case with any other reflexes. This is the 
view which dominates to-day, but in opposition to it we 
find that eye-movements are determined to a very 
considerable extent by the characteristics of the visual 
phenomena which are involved. As a proof of this fact, 
the reflexes of fixation which we have described are 
merely one example. To mention another, eye-move- 
ments are dependent upon the contours of seen-objects. 
By means of accommodation, the fixation of a contour 
affords a sharp image upon the retina. These move- 
ments of co-ordination are so regulated that, apart from 
a few unimportant deviations, every position of the two 
eyes provides for the reflection upon corresponding 
points of the retina of the largest possible number of 
external points furnished by the stimulating object ;7° 
so that, whatever position the eyes take, a horizontal 
line passing through the fixation-point will always fall 
upon a corresponding line on each retina.” Briefly 
stated, the principles according to which our eye- 
movements are regulated are so determined that our 
visual perception furnishes the clearest possible purview 
of surrounding space. 

The “beautiful harmony” between the sensory and 
the motor functions of binocular vision has already been 
appropriately emphasized by Hering. But so long as 
all the functions involved were considered to be held 
together as a mere connection of individual elements, 
it was impossible to comprehend the significance of this 
harmony. Is there, then, no other possible conception 
whereby this harmony can be understood? According 
to the fundamental work which Wolfgang Kohler” has 
recently published, it appears that there is. But Kohler’s 
conception is of quite a different order from Hering’s, 
and agrees instead with certain ideas which Wertheimer 
has recently introduced into psychology. What these 
ideas are will be made clear in later chapters; here we 


79 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


must confine ourselves to the new explanation of eye- 
movements which they afford. First of all, the assump- 
tion is definitely renounced that the relation between 
sensory and motor functions in optics is a mere system 
of interconnections ; and with this renunciation go all 
the consequences of the previous assumptions which 
we have pointed out on p. 76 f. For instance, we can 
no longer assume that the sensory function serves 
merely to release the motor function without involving 
any zmner or materzal connection between the two. 
Instead, the hypothesis is advanced that the specific 
pattern of the seen-object itself regulates the movements 
of the eye. From this it follows at once that the optical 
sensorium and motorium can not be regarded as two 
independent pieces of apparatus, since for many types 
of performance they constitute a umuztary organ—a 
physical system—within which separate organic parts 
may react upon other parts. Accordingly, what happens 
at one point in the organism is never independent of, or 
without its influence upon, what is taking place at any 
other point in the organism. What this new conception 
means to psychology can be revealed only gradually in 
the course of this book. 

Thus we have an entirely new explanation of eye- 
movements, according to which our optical organ, 
sensory plus motor, becomes a self-regulating apparatus. 
By operating upon the motor parts, the sensory event 
alters its own conditions. This regulation must take 
place according to exactly determinable and physically 
predictable laws; and, indeed, the eye-movements do 
actually conform throughout with these laws. The 
alteration of conditions must therefore take place in 
accordance with the greatest possible simplicity and 
equilibration of forces; and the principle of the greatest 
horopter (cf. p. 79 and note 70) will be found in 
harmony with this requirement. 

I can perhaps illustrate this self-regulatory process 


by a simple example. The centre of the field of vision, 
80 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


which corresponds to the fovea centralts, is phenomenally 
as well as functionally a point of outstanding character 
and significance. Assume an infant lying on its back 
in a totally dark room, as described in Watson’s tests, 
and allow a light to fall on the peripheral region of its 
retine. The infant’s optical system will then be in 
a state of dis-equilibrium occasioning eye-movements 
which continue in a certain direction until equilibrium 
has been re-established. This will be the case when 
the light falls upon the fovea of each eye—that is, upon 
the centres of gravity, as it were, in each optical field, 
which condition the fixation of the light by the eyes. 

To go into the matter on its physical side would take 
us too far afield; but the main point to be noted is 
this: that a connection between two different functions 
is possible without the provision of a special mechanism 
to account for it (cf. pp. 68-70)”. I repeat that the reader 
can not be expected at once to fully comprehend the 
significance and the importance of this new principle. 
But when the same ideas have recurred again and again 
in connection with different problems, this end will have 
been attained, and the reader can then turn back to 
these pages and review this section. 

One concluding observation is here in place. Eye- 
movements may still be termed reflexes, although, as 
we have seen, they can be explained without the 
assumption of any special mechanism conceived as a 
system of mere interconnections, which leads us to 
question whether we can not apply this explanation of 
eye-movements to all reflexes. We shall only raise the 
question at this point, but will attempt something in 
the way of an answer to it in the next chapter. 

This much, at least, is clear; that the question 
whether the empirical or the nativistic theory of eye- 
movements is right—whether these movements take 
place according to inherited laws, or whether they 
must each be learned by individual experience—now 


assumes an entirely different meaning. Since the visual 
81 F 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


phenomena themselves, or at least their physical cor- 
relates, regulate eye-movements by virtue of their specific 
qualities, it follows that in the course of development 
eye-movements must depend upon the phenomena 
which go with them. Progress in any performance, 
such as visual fixation which we have been discussing, 
will therefore be partly conditioned by the progress 
made in the act of seeing itself. Here again Empiricism 
and Nativism are opposed as bitterly as ever, but a 
decision between them can be reached only after we 
have taken up the problem of learning. 

Returning now to the list of the reflexes found in 
new-born infants, a few more examples may be added. 

(b) Har-Reflexes—In the beginning specific reactions 
to auditory stimuli are lacking (cf. p. 121), but during 
the third or fourth month—sometimes even in the 
second month—a response is developed that appears 
to be like the eye-movements of fixation, when the 
infant turns his head in the direction of a sound. In 
Preyer’s son this reaction had attained “the regularity 
of a reflex-movement” in the sixteenth week. Accord- 
ing to Miss Shinn’s observations, turning the head 
towards a sound at the right or left is executed much 
more promptly and accurately than towards a sound 
located above or below; the latter adjustment being 
made with considerable difficulty by her niece even at 
the end of the second year. We now know that the 
localization of a sound to the right or left depends upon 
the time-sequence in which the sound-waves issuing 
from the source of sound strike the right and left ear, 
respectively. Since a sound coming from the median 
plane between the two ears strikes them simultaneously 
the act of turning the head has the effect of bringing 
about this condition which appears to be a simplification 
of the excitatory processes in the brain-centres where 
the separate excitations of the two auditory nerves are 
united. Again, as in the case of eye-movements, the 
system alters its own conditions in the direction of 


82 


THE REFLEXES OF INFANTS 


maximal simplicity. The advantages of this hypothesis 
are obvious, especially in view of the difficulty involved 
in constructing a satisfactory hypothesis in terms of 
bonds of connection; for what would the bond connect? 
An impulse to move with a difference in time? Accord- 
ing to our hypothesis the amount of the difference in 
time determines the magnitude of a movement requisite 
to abolish the difference, and to permit the two ears to 
hear the sound simultaneously. 

The greater effectiveness of right-and-left over up-and- 
down localization lends support to this interpretation ; 
so also does another observation made by Miss Shinn 
that continuous sounds, such as playing on the piano 
(forty-fifth day), were the first auditory stimuli to cause 
the turning of her niece’s head, whereas brief sounds 
like sneezing did not occasion this reaction until the 
ninety-second day. 

Miss Shinn not only records the turning of the head, 
as Preyer does, but also the direction of the child’s 
gaze. Further investigation is needed to elucidate 
this point; but even if Miss Shinn’s observations are 
correct it is possible that the direction of the child’s 
gaze was a visual effect secondary to, and dependent 
upon, the original adjustment of the head to sound. 
The observation of the child’s turning her head at so 
early a date as the forty-fifth day, lends weight to such 
an interpretation, yet it is also possible that even at 
this time the visual and auditory sense-organs are so 
intimately connected that in turning the head in re- 
action to a sound the eyes are at the same time freed 
to look straight ahead.” 

(c) Skin-Reflexes—A considerable number of reflexes 
are aroused by stimulation of the skin. Among these, 
one that is typical of the new-born infant is the so- 
called Babinski-reflex, which after a few weeks is sup- 
planted by the plantar reflex and does not again appear 
in the normal adult. If one touches the sole of a new- 


born infant’s foot, the toes are stretched upwards and 
83 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


outwards. This is the Babinski-reflex. If the same 
stimulus is applied later in life it causes the toes to 
move downwards and press together, which is the 
plantar reflex. 

The Babinski-reflex appears to have a protective, or 
flight, character. A similar reflex can be released in 
infants by touching the eyelids or lashes, which is 
immediately followed by closing the lids. In the sense 
of a positive adaptation, still another reflex is effective, 
even in the case of an infant without a cortex. If one 
touches the palm of an infant’s hand, the fingers close 
about the object with which the hand has come in 
contact. In this connection one should also mention 
the remarkable reaction which the Americans call the 
“clinging” or grasping reflex. In the hand-closing 
reflex the child exercises an extraordinary force. In 
America, Robinson has made a special study of this 
reaction, and has found that a great many infants, not 
yet an hour old, will grasp a small stick so tightly with 
their fingers that one can raise them in the air. Twelve 
newly-born infants hung thus for half a minute, like 
gymnasts on a horizontal bar, and three or four held on 
for fully a minute.” Asan addendum to these remarks, 
it may be noted that the vegetative processes take their 
normal course from the beginning, although breathing 
and the pulse-beat are much quicker and less regular 
in infants than in adults. Reflexes, such as sneezing 
and coughing, have also been observed during the first 
days after birth. 


§ 6—The Suckling Instinct, and the Primary Char- 
acteristics of Instinctive Movement 


We shall pass over further details concerning the 
reflexes and turn to a third group of movements. Up 
to the present we have not touched upon one of the 
most frequent, most important, and most characteristic 
of the infant’s forms of behaviour: its mode of nourish-~ 
ment by suckling. Sete after birth the child is 

4 


THE SUCKLING INSTINCT 


able to suckle and swallow its milk. When the nipple 
is placed between its lips this characteristic behaviour 
either begins at once, or within a few minutes, during 
which less appropriate movements are being made. 
Suckling is not so simple a reaction as it might at first 
seem; for it requires the exact co-operation of the 
muscles involved. The lips must surround the nipple 
so as to exclude air, and the movements of sucking 
must take place with a rhythm of the contracting and 
expanding muscles which is in time with the move- 
ments of swallowing ; and yet “of all the movements of 
the ‘suckling, hardly any is so perfect from the beginning 
as that which gave him his name.” ”® 

The sucking movement is not continued Prenaitele 
nor until fatigue sets in; for when the infant has taken 
a sufficient amount of nourishment it refuses the breast 
and will no longer suck even if one places the nipple 
again in its mouth. When, on the other hand, a child 
is hungry or in want of food, sucking is induced not 
alone by the nipple, for the infant will also suck a 
finger or the cheeks of its mother or nurse whenever its 
lips come in contact with them; showing that it is not 
necessary to introduce milk into the mouth in order to 
stimulate the reaction. Not that any object placed in 
the mouth will necessarily be sucked; for, as Preyer 
has pointed out, the object must not be too large or too 
small, too hot or too cold, too bitter or too salty. It is 
likewise important that the milk should be of a proper 
consistency, otherwise the act of sucking is interrupted. 
Thus Preyer reports that on the fourth day his child 
refused cow’s milk thinned with water, which on the 
second day he had taken without hesitation, and not 
until a small amount of sugar had been added could he 
be induced to receive the nourishment. This behaviour 
of suckling is likewise evinced in infants without a 
cortex. The child described by Edinger and Fischer 
also “took the breast at once and sucked properly from 
the beginning.’ A certain difference between normal 


85 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


children and idiots, especially those lacking a cortex, 
seems to be indicated by the fact that normal children 
perfect the act in so short a time that, as Preyer reports, 
it takes place with machine-like regularity after about 
two weeks. According to the observations of Sollier, 
no improvement in the performance is observable in 
cases of congenital idiocy. The response appears, says 
Sollier, as though it were each time new to the infant.” 
As for the child without a cortex reported by Edinger 
and Fischer, it ceased to take the breast altogether 
during the sixth week of its life and thereafter had to 
be fed with a spoon. Feeding it in this manner, the 
attentive mother noticed during the fourth month that 
the child made slight movements of sucking, which 
suggested that she should try it with a bottle. This 
proved successful, moreover the child would suck the 
bottle only when there was milk in it. 

Whether a normal infant seeks the breast from the 
start is uncertain. But it is unable to find the nipple 
without assistance, though it succeeds in doing so after 
a few days, probably with the aid of smell—at least this 
is the only cue one can think of in the case of congeni- 
tally blind dogs in which this capacity has also been 
observed. After approaching the breast, however, the 
tactual sensitivity of the lips probably also plays a part. 

At first view, suckling seems to be a reflex action. 
It takes place, in the beginning at least, as a reaction to 
a stimulus; its course is quite regular, it belongs to the 
congenital dispositions, and it is eminently useful in the 
preservation of the species. A closer consideration, 
however, reveals several important differences from the 
reflexes. In the first place, suckling, as already noted, 
is a relatively complicated act; which, however, in view 
of the indefiniteness of the statement, is not a very 
important difference. But in the second place, the 
relation of the response to its stimulation is in several 
respects different from that usually found in reflexes. 

(2) The movement depends upon the stimulus in 


THE SUCKLING INSTINCT 


the sense of being adapted to it, not merely because the 
reaction proves to be objectively appropriate—as when 
the pupil contracts more to a strong light than it does 
to a weak light—but because the act of suckling is 
regulated directly by the formal characteristics of the 
stimulating object. Thus the position of the lips in 
sucking must be different according as it is the breast 
nipple, a rubber nipple, an adult’s finger, or the child’s 
own finger, which is being sucked. 

(2) Fine differences in the stimulus-complex may 
lead to opposite reactions (sucking or rejecting the 
nipple), which are sometimes of biological importance— 
as, for instance, the proper constitution of the milk to 
be taken. 

(c) Aside from fatigue, the operation of a stimulus 
alone is not a sufficient condition for the appearance of 
the reaction. In addition, there must be a particular 
state of the organism as a whole—in this case a want 
of food; for we observe that the satiated infant no 
longer sucks, but rejects the nipple. Characteristic as 
are these differences, they would scarcely have sufficed 
to distinguish a special group of movements from the 
reflexes, were it not that certain modes of behaviour 
have been discovered in the study of animals which 
originate neither in experience nor in deliberation. 
These are called zwstzmcttve movements, and suckling 
can be assigned to this group. 

It will serve our present purpose to mention a few 
typical instinctive actions of animals’*. A chick which 
has just broken from its shell pecks at any small object 
in its neighbourhood. This action requires no example 
from the hen or from another chick. Chicks hatched in 
an incubator act in this respect like those hatched in 
the natural way. The chick pecks only at objects of a 
certain size, such as grain, caterpillars, etc., that chance 
to be within its reach; otherwise it pecks without 
distinction and with surprising accuracy. This com- 
plicated movement is perfectly developed within a 


87 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


short time, though at first the defect may be. noticed 
of pecking a little to one side of the object—missing it, 
however, only by a hair’s-breadth. On the whole, 
pecking affords an instance of an extraordinarily pre- 
cise co-ordination of optical stimuli with impulses that 
control a large group of muscles. 

Another example is this: Birds that have been 
reared in an artificial nest without parent birds com- 
mence building their own nests when brooding time 
approaches, For this purpose they employ every kind 
of suitable material, even including some which is not 
available under natural conditions, such as cotton 
wadding, coloured woollen, etc. The nest resulting 
from the use of these materials has, however, a form 
that is typzcal for the species of bird. Thus the swallow 
builds a different nest than the thrush. Without ever 
having seen a nest, and without an opportunity to 
imitate the nest-building activities of others of its kind, 
a swallow reared under artificial conditions constructs 
the same kind of nest built by swallows that have grown 
up in freedom. It is unnecessary to emphasize the fact 
that we are here dealing with a very complicated per- 
formance. The nests of birds are often true works of 
art, as is shown in the case of the reed-warbler which, 
building its nest in the reeds, must make it deep enough 
so that the eggs will not fall out even when the wind 
bends the supporting reed to the water’s edge. 

A third and final example may be given of a squirrel 
taken from its hole high up in a tree immediately after 
birth, and reared thereafter under artificial conditions. 
At first the animal was nourished with milk and biscuit, 
but one day it was offered a nut—the first it had ever 
seen in its life. The squirrel examined the nut atten- 
tively and then gnawed around it until the kernel was 
exposed and devoured. Afterwards, whenever the 
squirrel was freed in the room it was observed that 
if more nuts were about than the animal could eat at 
one time, a nut would often be seized and “cached,” 


88 


THE SUCKLING INSTINCT 


The animal would first look carefully around the room, 
and then run to some protected place—behind a sofa 
leg, or to a cavity in the foot of a carved table—and 
place the nut in the chosen spot. This behaviour 
terminated with the movements characteristic of bury- 
ing a nut, and also of pressing the earth firmly over it. 
The squirrel would then go about its usual affairs quite 
undisturbed by the fact that the nut would still be 
wholly exposed to view. In order to comprehend this 
behaviour one must know that under natural conditions 
squirrels do actually conceal nuts in this manner. They 
hide their nuts two or three centimetres under the 
ground, recovering them later by the aid of smell. But 
the animal whose actions we have been reporting had 
never in its life been upon the open ground ”, 

These examples are typical of instinctive activities, 
and demonstrate that a living being can behave in a 
manner peculiarly suited to its own existence, or even 
necessary to the perpetuation of its species, without any 
relevant experience whatsoever. These acts are never 
quite simple—being for the most part extremely com- 
plicated—and the relation of the activity to its stimulus 
is not at all simple. As demonstrated by the nature of 
the behaviour when it takes place under conditions very 
different from those of the normal habitat, the result of 
the action must be entirely unknown to the animal, and 
yet the animal works towards a definite end, and ceases 
only when this end—in so far as the conditions will 
permit—has been achieved. For example, the hen 
stops pecking when it is satiated, and the squirrel stops 
scraping when the nut is buried. It is quite impossible 
to interpret these examples as evidence against the con- 
clusion we have reached, by saying, for instance, that 
the squirrel is really quite unconcerned about the end, 
and merely performs a series of movements determined 
once and for all, which cease as soon as the series has 
run its course. That would be a quite unjustifiable 
generalization of behaviour under unnatural conditions 


89 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


applied to behaviour under normal conditions. Since 
the nut can not be buried in the room, the usual achieve- 
ment is impossible. But in the open country it is 
certainly not one and the same series-of movements 
that lead always to the same end. How the squirrel 
must dig depends upon the nature of the soil, and its 
scratching and scraping must be different in firm and in 
loose earth, in dry and in damp earth, etc. 

None of these activities is simple, and all are exten- 
sive movement-complexes. Think how many and how 
varied are the movements requisite in nest-building ; 
yet all are adapted to the surroundings just as suckling 
is adapted to the reception of nourishment. It is 
activities of this kind—found in their most complete 
form in insects—which we term zmstinctzve. But we 
must be careful not to take this name as being an ex- 
planation of the behaviour itself. It is all too easy to 
believe that a real explanation can be avoided by merely 
labelling the action zzstenctzve. Surely the term zmstznct 
removes from these activities nothing of the mystery or 
incomprehensibility which they arouse in the mind of 
an unprejudiced observer; and from this point of view 
science must admit that instinct is still an unsolved 
puzzle. 

We now see why we did not classify suckling with 
the reflexes, but instead placed it among the instincts ; 
for instinctive action furnishes criteria which differentiate 
suckling from the reflexes (p. 87), both in its relation 
to a previously unknown achievement, as indicated by 
seeking and rejecting, and by the presence of extensive 
movement-complexes. 


§ 7—Instincts as Chained Reflexes. Thorndtke’s Theory 


When we were trying to explain reflexes in the pre- 
ceding paragraphs (p. 68), we asked ourselves how an 
organ must be constructed in order that its function 
might be reflexive. We now ask the same question in 


go 


INSTINCTS AS CHAINED REFLEXES 


regard to instinctive movements. How can we conceive 
a mechanism for the instincts? 

The answer to this question promises to be much more 
difficult than it was in the case of the reflexes, and, in- 
deed, there is no universally accepted theory of instinct. 
Many investigators have given up attempting to explain 
it, finding in instinct an unsolved, and perhaps an in- 
soluble riddle (Stern). One answer has been given to 
the question so frequently, however, that we must give 
heed to it. This answer is that instinctive action is 
nothing more than a series of reflex-actions; more 
specifically, instincts are chained reflexes. A stimulus 
excites a reflex-movement starting the instinctive action. 
This movement either acts as the stimulus for a new 
movement or else occasions new stimuli from without 
which act upon the individual and in turn excite new 
movements. So it goes until the instinctive action is 
complete. For example, the hungry lion sets out upon 
a hunt for prey. The organic processes of hunger touch 
off the movements of search for the prey. The lion 
begins to stalk the prey as soon as he is made aware of 
its approach by one of his sensory organs. He springs 
upon the hunted animal as soon as he comes near 
enough to it; and finally, he devours it as soon as his 
claws and teeth touch it. Thus each movement leads 
to the arousal of a new stimulus which in turn excites a 
new movement. We have taken this example from the 
vivid account of William James wha, among psycholo- 
gists, was one of the chief supporters of this point of 
view *, which originated with Herbert Spencer. The 
view is supported to-day in compgrative psychology by 
the behaviourists, as we have already seen. In Watson’s 
book entitled Behaviour we read that “an instinct is a 
series of chained reflexes” ®1, 

The same view is presented with remarkable cogency 
by Thorndike, who applies it throughout in his 
psychology of human development. Our consideration 
may therefore be based upon his statement of the theory. 


gl 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


Thorndike teaches, as does the behaviouristic school in 
general, that every act of behaviour is a reaction to a 
situation, and that the act consists of three component 
parts: First the situation, within as well as without the 
body, which stimulates the individual; secondly, the 
reaction, a process within the individual which is a result 
of this stimulation; and lastly, the bond which makes 
this connection between the situation and the response 
possible. This, however, is nothing more nor less than 
the reflex-scheme as we already know it (see p. 68) ; 
though it has undergone a notable extension in the 
scope of its application so as to cover all acts of in- 
telligence *. We shall consider this extension later; for 
the present we have only to deal with inherited modes 
of behaviour. These are characterized by the fact 
that the connection between situation and response is 
determined unequivocally by the order and arrangement 
of the neurones. One sees, therefore, that from this 
point of view there can be no form of inherited behaviour 
which is essentially different from the reflexes. With 
this in mind it is clearly inappropriate to describe the 
instincts by reference to the ends they serve. Instead, 
one ought to characterize them with reference to the 
stimuli which call them forth. When one attributes an 
instinct of self-preservation to an animal, this description 
is just as inappropriate as if one were to attribute to 
oxygen an instinct to produce rust. 

The mechanism of an instinct is therefore regarded 
as a system of reflex-arcs (see p. 69), although it has 
not yet been explained why the instinctive acts have so 
close a relationship to the ends they serve ; for it was 
precisely here that we found the chief characteristic 
which distinguishes them from reflex-movements. 

We may now add a few words to the statement 
already made on this subject. When we compare 
different situations which give rise to the same in- 
stinctive activities, we find that the alterations of 
behaviour corresponding to differences in the situation 


92 


INSTINCTS AS CHAINED REFLEXES 


are of such a nature as to secure the same result ina 
manner conformable to the changed conditions. In 
carrying a heavy stick of building material to its nest, 
a bird must make other movements than in carrying 
a lighter stick. Such modifications of behaviour may 
take place easily and immediately. On the other hand, 
it may be that the original movement is first carried 
out and, if it proves inappropriate to the new situation, 
it may then be altered and the alteration continued 
until the result is attained—excepting, of course, cases 
where attainment is impossible. An example of this 
method of procedure is found in the act of suckling; 
for if the milk-bottle is stopped up sucking becomes 
stronger and more energetic. This peculiarity of in- 
stinctive movement is of the greatest importance. 
Lloyd Morgan has termed it “persistency with varied 
effort.” 

Thorndike tries to construct his theory so that it 
will embrace this feature of instinctive behaviour. The 
chief problem, as he sees it, is to find out why the 
reactions vary in the same situation and cease only 
when an end is attained. But from the point of view 
of the reflex-arc theory, two different problems are here 
involved. One might explain variation by the applica- 
tion of Thorndike’s hypothesis that the reflex-arc is 
not a simple mechanism, since the centripetal branch 
is connected in varying degrees of intimacy with 
numerous centrifugal branches, so that, in point of 
fact, different reactions corresponding to different con- 
nections function successively. Further assumptions 
are, of course, necessary to cover the serial order of 
the different movements; but the explanation is still 
incomplete, for why does the alteration of movement 
take place in the direction of a special consummation, 
or end? 

Here Thorndike advances a new hypothesis. We 
might suppose that as long as the end is not attained, 
the stimulus persists and continues to be effective. It 


93 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


must be explained, however, why the stimulus does not 
always call forth the same reaction until exhaustion 
sets in, instead of which the animal’s behaviour leads 
finally to a successful response. Thorndike assumes 
here, as a part of the inherited disposition of the 
organism, that certain conditions are tolerated without 
opposition, or are even actively supported and main- 
tained, whereas other conditions are naturally avoided 
or modified®. These conditions he calls “original 
satisfiers” and “original annoyers.” As examples of 
“original satisfiers,” he cites: “To be with other 
human beings rather than alone”; “To rest when 
tired” ; “To move when refreshed.” As examples of 
‘annoyers, he gives, “ Bitter substances in the mouth”; 
‘Being checked in locomotion by an obstacle”; “ Being 
looked at with scorn by other men.” 

Since a collection of examples, however complete, 
affords less understanding than a law from which these 
examples can be derived, Thorndike formulates his law 
in the following terms: “For a conduction-unit ready 
to conduct, to do so is satisfying and for it not to do so 
annoying,” which, however, only brings us back again 
to our original problem ; for the result it was intended 
to explain appears again in the explanation. Without’ 
arguing in a circle, this explanation is tenable only by 
recourse to the behaviour of the neurones. A situation 
may release a number of movements which are com- 
pletely determined by inherited disposition. It is a 
function of this inherited disposition, however, not only 
to release movements, by conducting the nervous im- 
pulse over pathways, but also to set other pathways in 
readiness for conduction when their time comes. And 
hence, something is still wanting before James’s example 
of the lion has been completely accounted for (cf. p. 91). 
If the lion is stimulated to stalk its prey by the scent 
of the animal, the chain of neurones that will later 
regulate the act of springing upon the prey must at the 
same time be set in readiness. Likewise, the system 


94 


INSTINCTS AS CHAINED REFLEXES 


of nervous pathways upon which the still later activities 
of rending and devouring are dependent must in some 
degree be aroused at the very beginning of the hunt. 
If the act is completed, these nervous pathways which 
are ina state of readiness actually become functional; 
but if the act is not completed, they remain inactive. 
Thus the conclusion is reached that a functioning of 
neurones in a state of readiness is satisfying to the 
system of neurones involved,—or, as Thorndike says, 
to the conduction-unit—whereas not to function, when 
in a state of readiness, is annoying. There is also the 
opposite state in which a pathway may be either un- 
ready to conduct, or in such an unfavourable condition 
that conduction meets with resistance, so that when 
forced to conduct, the act is likewise annoying. 

Thorndike is now faced with the problem of apply- 
ing these laws to all situations which are originally 
satisfying or annoying. We shall not follow him in 
his task, which involves many hypotheses, but will pro- 
ceed at once to estimate what has been gained by his 
theory for a solution to the problem of instinct, and 
especially its characteristic “persistency with varied 
effort.” A principle already mentioned aids Thorn- 
dike at this point; for the situation is supposed to 
release not one reaction alone, but a large number of 
different reactions. If the first act does not achieve 
the end but, instead, produces annoyance, then other 
possible reactions will be released by this failure and 
by what remains of the original situation, so that 
finally satisfaction is obtained; unless, to be sure, 
fatigue sets in and the animal abandons the attempt. 
This principle is found to be applicable in the explana- 
tion of “varied effort,’ because variation is attributed 
to the annoying situations, while cessation is attributed 
to the satisfying situations. 

Two points are to be noted in this attempt to solve 
the problem of instinct. In the first place Thorndike’s 
theory provides that so long as unsuccessful movements 


95 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


are being made, they are always succeeded by others, 
determined by the situation and by the interconnections 
of the neurones, until finally an end is achieved. Yet 
the substitution of one movement for another is in no 
wise determined with reference to a goal, but altogether 
by the neurone-connections laid down in the organism. 
The theory is therefore mechanistic, in the sense explained 
above (p. 69). The question immediately arises: How 
can a movement follow upon another that is unsuccess- 
ful? According to Thorndike the answer would be 
this: The peculiar annoyance arising from an act, 
together with the remainder of the old situation, creates 
a new situation with a new set of reactions which it 
releases. But we have here the same difficulty we met 
with in the case of eye-movements ; for apparently there 
must be an infinite number of connections. Let us see 
how Thorndike himself describes the behaviour of a 
hungry kitten confined in a small cage with food in 
sight outside the bars. Having never been placed in 
such a situation before, the kitten “tries to squeeze 
through any opening ; it claws and bites at the bars or 
wire ; it thrusts its paws out through any opening and 
claws at everything it reaches; it continues its efforts 
when it strikes anything loose and shaky; it may claw 
at things within the box. It does not pay very much 
attention to the food outside, but seems simply to strive 
instinctively to escape from confinement. The vigour 
with which it struggles is extraordinary. For eight 
or ten minutes it will claw and bite and squeeze 
incessantly.” 4 

To ask what is the stimulus for this response, and to 
expect an answer in terms of the total situation, including 
the states of readiness in the neurones whereby the 
stimulus is supposed to release movements according 
to predetermined inherited pathways, seems a wholly 
inadequate statement of the case. 

Erich Becher suggests other considerations.™ The 
situation which releases the instinctive action is fre- 


96 


INSTINCTS AS CHAINED REFLEXES 


quently of such a character that it may be resolved at 
different times into quite different stimulating elements, 
and yet, taken as a whole, the result remains the same. 
This is illustrated by the following example. Spiders 
of a certain kind possess an instinct which causes them 
to flee from bees, and they do so at the very first sight 
of a bee. Now Dahl has shown that no particular 
colour, odour, or size serves as an effective stimulus for 
these movements of flight on the part of the spider. 
Although the bee is unequivocally defined as a real 
object, it is not defined as a stimulus producing a 
definite retinal image; because the bee appears differ- 
ently when seen from the front, from behind, or from 
the side, and also differently from above and from below. 
The effective elements of stimulation must therefore 
differ in accordance with the position the bee occupies 
with respect to the spider. Yet movements of flight 
are released even when the bee occupies the most unusual 
positions. Here we have an endless number of possi- 
bilities of stimulation by the same object ; consequently, 
if the instinct-apparatus is conceived as a system of 
predetermined paths, these pathways must be almost 
infinite in number. Just how this problem can be 
solved is, of course, another matter, but the significance 
of this objection to the Spencerian theory of instincts 
can scarcely be denied. 

On the other hand, Thorndike’s theory is a positive 
contribution to the subject, in as much as his doctrine 
of satisfying and annoying situations furnishes the nucleus 
of a solution by the support it gives to a principle 
that can be expressed in the following terms: Physio- 
logical processes take place both in the form of “closed” 
and “unclosed” responses. This principle appears in 
Thorndike’s work only in a special form which is closely 
interwoven with all his other assumptions, but it is a 
principle of the greatest significance in the explana- 
tion, not only of instinctive acts, but of behaviour in 
general, 


97 G 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


§ 8—A Contribution to the Theory of Instinct, Looking 
Towards the Abandonment of the Alternative Views 
of Mechanism and Vitalism. Instincts and Reflexes 


The Spencerian Theory, taken over by Thorndike, 
is entirely inadequate without a reinterpretation of 
behaviour in terms of “closed” and “ unclosed” physio- 
logical systems; but even so it still has certain incurable 
defects. We must, therefore, try to understand instinc- 
tive action without the hindrance of any theoretical pre- 
suppositions. In order to do so we must distinguish 
between instinctive and reflexive actions even more 
closely than we have already done. We found reflex- 
action to be well adapted to the simple reflex-apparatus. 
Following Stout we can now supplement our earlier 
statements in three ways: 

1, A chain of reflexes must consist of a number of 
separate part-activities determined in a purely objective 
manner by the order of the system of neurones laid 
down in the organism. If we name these single part- 
activities a, 6, c,... then dis carried out because it is 
stimulated either directly by @ or by a stimulus that 
becomes effective through a, and ¢,in turn, has the same 
relation to d that 6 has toa. In short, every successive 
part-activity stands only in relation to the immediately 
preceding activity, or to its effects. Moreover, if we 
accept Thorndike’s hypothesis of readiness, the par- 
ticular act may be conditioned by many or all of the 
preceding part-activities. Yet when we consider a 
typical instinctive action as it appears in the natural 
course of an animal’s life, the impression is not at all 
that of a summation of part-activities which have in 
themselves nothing to do with one another. On the 
contrary, an instinctive activity takes a uniform course: 
it is a continuous movement; it does not appear as a 
multiplicity of separate movements, but as one articu- 
late whole embracing an end as well as a beginning. 
Every member of this activity seems to be determined, 


98 


THE THEORY OF INSTINCT 


not only by its position with reference to what has 
gone before, but also with reference to all the members 
of the completed act,—especially to the last phase which 
leads to the result. An instinctive activity does not 
make the same impression upon us as does a succession 
of tones, for instance, which a playful child might 
produce by pressing the keys of a piano in irregular 
succession ; but, instead, is like a melody. We can 
also describe the facts in this way: An instinctive 
reaction is adapted to its stimulus; it is not merely set 
off by it. And this truth applies not merely to the end, 
but to the reaction asa whole. We have already referred 
to the fact that an instinctive reaction directs itself upon 
the situation which arouses it. Under certain circum- 
stances, obstacles interfering with its progression are 
set aside, while the tendency persists, with varied effort 
and by varying means, until the end is attained. Con- 
sider the building of a nest. One can not say at any 
particular stage in its construction that the bird will 
now make this or that movement; one can say, how- 
ever, that the bird must now fulfil this or that 
requirement. 

I wish it understood that these statements are intended 
as an unprejudiced description, without theoretical pre- 
suppositions, The truth of our description can there- 
fore freely be admitted, even though one sees fit to 
maintain that in reality the behaviour is something 
quite different. It is also significant that descriptions 
of this sort are not only suitable for instinctive actions, 
but also for higher types of behaviour which we call 
acts of intelligence**. We shall, therefore, employ such 
descriptions frequently in what follows. Yet the reader 
need not hesitate to accept our description through fear 
of being led into a false theoretical conclusion; for, of 
course, one can not infer from this agreement between 
instinct and intelligence that an intelligent conscious- 
ness must participate in instinctive action—an inference 
which has been drawn, for instance, by Stout. On the 


99 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


other hand, it would be equally inadmissible to pass this 
similarity over and leave it out of consideration *’. 

2. While reflexes are typically “passive” modes of 
behaviour, which depend upon the fact that some 
stimulation has taken place, instinctive behaviour is, by 
contrast, significantly “active” in its search for stimuli. 
The bird seeks the material for its nest, and the predatory 
animal sta/ks its game. 

3. Instinctive activity is constantly controlled by the 
sense-organs. The situation which presents itself to the 
sense-organs, after a movement has taken place, deter- 
mines the continuation of the movement; but success 
and error are differentiated, so that varied activities may 
lead to a single goal. 

From all of which it appears that the instinctive 
activities are much more like voluntary activities than 
they are like pure reflexes. At any rate, they possess 
the same forward direction that is characteristic of 
voluntary action. 

One might object that such a forward direction could 
only be given if the animal already knew the goal to- 
wards which he was striving. In the case of voluntary 
action this knowledge is presupposed, but not so in the 
case of instinct, where the animal must direct his course 
without any previous knowledge of the end. How, then, 
is it possible to strive for a goal of which nothing is 
known? To this question Stout gives the right answer. 
One can quite well be directed forward without knowing 
anything of the goal which one is approaching. One 
can wait, and yet know not what one is waiting for. 
The present situation appears, therefore, not as one that 
is constituted thus-and-so, but as one that is constantly 
undergoing change. It is not a state, but a transition ; 
not a deing, but a becoming. There is no difficulty in 
comprehending what this means. From the first scene 
of a drama one may feel that something terrible is going 
to happen, and thereafter all that transpires on the 


stage is merely a preparation for, or a delay in the tragic 
100 


THE THEORY OF INSTINCT 


dénouement ; and yet one would not be able to tell what 
it is precisely which thus hangs, as it were, in the air ™*. 
As a simple example, suppose you are listening for 
the first time to an unfamiliar melody, which ceases 
abruptly before its termination; you will then have 
a very clear impression that the music should continue. 
Or again, if some one taps the following measure: 
-.— ..— .. , the last beat has no finality; the 
rhythm ought to goon. In this instance, the expecta- 
tion is quite definite, but in the preceding case it is 
not altogether indefinite, though the indefiniteness, may 
under circumstances be greater than it could possibly 
be in the case of a simple rhythmical succession. Even 
in the instance of the drama, the tragic end which hangs 
over the audience is not altogether undetermined. In- 
deed, expectancy consists, not only in a definite situation 
which must change—including a specific change of its 
parts—but also in the direction of the change itself, 
however indefinite this may be. For if the course of 
action be interrupted in any one of our examples, we 
have not merely stopped an external succession of in- 
dependent processes, we have disrupted a unitary course 
of events which, though incomplete at the moment 
of interruption, yet bore within itself, and evolved as it 
went along, its own law of progression. Indeed, I 
should go further than Stout does; for I think it quite 
possible that this is a fair characterization of instinctive 
behaviour, so that one might say that the nearer an 
animal comes to the end of his instinctive action, the 
more clearly and definitely will the directions of change 
reveal themselves in the as-yet-incomplete present 
situation. 

In order to make clear this point concerning the 
“inner” behaviour of an animal when it acts instinc- 
tively, let us consider the nature of a human instinct. 
Suppose some one suddenly hears shrieks which be- 
token agony and distress; at once he will move in the 


direction from which the shrieks come, and if he finds 
IOI 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


the victim who uttered the cries, he will endeavour 
to render him assistance in his trouble. What is a 
person’s “experience” from the moment he hears the 
shrieks? One may feel both pity and courage, whereas 
another, instead of being drawn towards the sufferer, 
may be tempted torun away. The “inner behaviour” 
of the individual is therefore affectzve, and the phe- 
nomena which accompany his action are of the type 
called emotional, Furthermore, these emotions, or “inner 
behaviour,” fit the external behaviour of the instinctive 
act perfectly, just as our general conception of behaviour 
requires that they should. This conception of the re- 
lation between instinct and emotion has been developed 
by William McDougall who writes that “instinctive 
activity is naturally accompanied by some degree of a 
general felt excitement; this felt excitement, accom- 
panying the operation of any instinct, is specific in 
quality to that instinct.” And hence, when we run 
away we feel fear, when we strike out we feel anger, 
when we spew out we feel disgust. In a recent paper, 
Lloyd Morgan has expressed similar views 

Taking this conception in conjunction with what 
has been said of the expectant attitude, it is possible 
to make several important inferences regarding the 
emotions. It follows, for instance, that the emotions 
are dynamic phenomena conditioned by time, and it 
also appears that there is no impassable gulf which 
separates the affective from the cognitive processes. 
But these are lines of thought which we can not here 
pause to follow out. 

Returning, then, to our main topic we note the fact 
that, without starting from any hypotheses, the study 
of instinctive behaviour, itself, brings us to the same 
conclusion reached by Thorndike regarding the differ- 
ence between a closed- or end-situation and a transitional 
situation. So long as the activity is incomplete, every 
new situation created by it is still to the animal a 
transitional situation; whereas when the animal has 

102 


THE THEORY OF INSTINCT 


attained his goal, he has arrived at a situation which to 
him is an end-situation. 

The examples we have given as analogies have 
nothing to do with Thorndike’s theory, yet they indicate 
how and where we must seek for a true explanation 
of instinct. 

At this point in the discussion we can only indicate 
the theory we have in mind. From what has been said, 
it appears that phenomena occur in connections deter- 
mined by peculiar inherent laws of relationship which 
have to do with “closure” and “non-closure.” To 
illustrate: Fig. 4 appears at once as an open triangle, 
although, being open, it does not 
have three angles. To bring this 
observation into relation with our 
terminology we might say that the 
figure exhibits “non-closure,” yet 
indicates with a relatively high 
degree of certainty the direction in Fic. 4. 
which “closure” is to be effected. 

When we consider that our phenomena belong to our 
behaviour, just as all our behaviour is bound up with 
definite processes of the central nervous system, the 
conclusion to be drawn from the consideration of 
instinctive performances is that the characteristics of 
“closure”—as we shall call it—belong not merely to 
the phenomena themselves, but likewise to the behaviour 
taken as a whole, including all reactions made to the 
environment. Instinctive activity then becomes an 
objective mode of behaviour analogous to such pheno- 
mena as rhythm, melody, and figure. 

Now the question arises: how shall we conceive the 
apparatus of these functions? As our later chapters 
will show, and as modern psychology is proving day by 
day, it is quite impossible to identify any scheme of 
chained neurones with the device needed. But at this 
point arguments directed against the explanation of 
instinctive activity in terms of reflexes meet their 

103 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


counterpart in arguments which would deny the whole 
issue as to an appropriate apparatus for these functions, 
by an assertion that the events of life can not in any 
way be traced back to the same laws that dominate the 
inorganic world. Accordingly, the conclusion has been 
reached that the operation of a specific “vital force” 
expresses itself in the events of life by means of energies 
which are either essentially mental, or, at least, are con- 
ceived as being directly related to mind. 

This view is called vztalism or, in so far as vital and 
mental energy are identified, psycho-vitalism. Kohler 
has justly remarked that “if one asks what phenomena 
of experience prompt the vitalists to accept this view, 
it may be answered that the motive of many can be 
found in what we have termed ‘closure, both in the 
organism and in its behaviour.” 

In the first chapter of this book various objections to 
a “psychological theory” were set forth; but despite 
all of these, if the choice lay between a mechanistic or 
a (psycho-)vitalistic explanation, we should feel obliged 
to choose the latter, if only in order to avoid the alter- 
native of maintaining an entirely false attitude towards 
life. This alternative, however, is not forced upon us 
as Wertheimer was the first to make evident in his new 
theory of the brain-processes™; for if nervous pro- 
cesses correspond to such phenomena as rhythm, melody, 
and figure—and the pathological cases, in which an 
injury to the brain renders the creation of such pheno- 
mena difficult or even impossible, teach us that nervous 
processes must have a share in occasioning them—then 
these same nervous processes must embrace all the 
essential characteristics of the phenomena in question. 
Kohler, indeed, has demonstrated that formal qualities 
belong likewise to inorganic processes in quite the same 
way in which they are evident in the phenomena we 
have mentioned. 

Again I must confine myself to a few suggestions 
relative to this subject. We are confronted with two 

104 


THE THEORY OF INSTINCT 


separate problems: (1) Is there any such thing as 
“closure” in inorganic processes and, if so, (2) Does 
“closure” exist in such a form that we can regard it as 
analogous to our distinction between an end- and a 
transitional situation? The first problem is the more 
difficult of the two, and Kohler solves it first for pro- 
cesses which are independent of the time-parameter, 
by demonstrating that states of rest and stationary 
processes, that is, events which do not alter their charac- 
teristics with the passage of time—as, for example, a 
constant electric current, or the flowing of water in a 
tube—do, indeed, possess the features of “closure.” 
The reader will not be able to correctly understand the 
meaning and significance of this proposition until he 
knows more exactly what is meant by “closure”, The 
meaning, however, will become clearer in the course of 
further discussion, while, at the same time, the signifi- 
cance of the proposition as we have employed it in this 
connection will also become more evident. 

A solution of the first problem leads at once to the 
second. Among an endless multiplicity of other con- 
ditions and events, stationary or rest-conditions re- 
present those striking instances in which all happenings 
issue. The distinction of these particular instances 
may be characterized in two ways: (1) they satisfy 
certain conditions of energy, and (2) they possess a 
certain simplicity and compactness, which, in isolated 
cases, can be defined mathematically—though at present 
this can not be done in all cases. A concrete example 
will best explain what we mean. A soap-film is pro- 
duced upon a wire-frame and upon it a little noose of 
thread is cast in whatever form it may take. If one 
proceeds carefully the thread will be supported upon 
the surface of the film, “ but if one pricks the film zzszde 
the noose with a point, the surface will break apart and 
the thread will be pulled out by the surface-tension of 
the outer portion of the film, which seeks to give the 
area outside the thread the least possible surface, and 

105 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


the area circumscribed by the thread the greatest 
possible surface. As a result, the thread immediately 
assumes the form ofa circle.” In this example we can 
conceive of circularity as the “end-situation,” puncturing 
the soap-film as the stimulus releasing the movement, 
and the movement itself as the “ transitional situation.” 
The same procedure holds true for all events, and especi- 
ally for those that issue in the nervous system. Thus 
inorganic nature includes the possibility of “closed” 
events—at least in the case of events independent of 
time—and the distinction of the end- and the transi- 
tional situation is as appropriate here as it is in organic 
behaviour. This fact, to be sure, is not all that is 
necessary to explain instinct ; because the uniformity of 
instinctive action very obviously suggests that with 
“closure” the whole temporal course of the activity is 
involved, and, so far, we have not referred to any de- 
pendency upon time. Yet this reservation raises no 
difficulty in principle; for the same hypothesis which is 
applicable to stationary events can also be carried over 
to the events of a dynamic series—although with much 
greater difficulty as regards details—so that even in the 
field of physics it can be demonstrated that dynamic 
processes also exhibit “closure.” In psychology it was 
precisely the dynamic phenomena of seen-movement 
that furnished the starting-point from which this new 
hypothesis has developed. 

An explanation of instinctive activity is therefore 
not called upon to discover an inherited system of 
connected neurones, but rather to investigate what kind 
of physico-chemical “closure” produces these astonish- 
ing types of behaviour, and under what conditions”. 
Although instinct is still a riddle, at least it is no 
longer one which forces upon us the acceptance of 
psycho-vitalistic principles ™, 

Events which shape themselves toward a definite 
end are, however, not merely a characteristic of the 
instincts, but likewise of i truly intelligent actions. 

Io 


THE THEORY OF INSTINCT 


When I am faced with a problem, I do not rest until I 
have solved it. The distinction between instinctive and 
intelligent behaviour must, therefore, be sought in the 
way in which one arrives at the end-situation from the 
beginning-situation. In the case of instinct, it is enough 
to present the beginning-situation to a living being, and 
at once an activity is started which continues until the 
end is attained. This, however, is not sufficient in 
the case of truly intelligent behaviour, whose specific 
peculiarity will be discussed later on™. 

As we proceed in our study of mental development, 
we shall constantly be learning more of this same type 
of process in its most variable forms. Let us now 
reconsider a result already mentioned. In the explana- 
tion of eye-movements we employed these principles 
which we have now developed in greater detail (see 
p. 79 f.), although at the time eye-movements were 
referred to as “reflexive.” Think now of the instinctive 
action of a young chick in pecking. This, to be sure, 
is a more complicated performance than that of eye- 
movements. It has, however, this much in common 
with them—that the pecking-movement is regulated 
by the optical system, the reactions of which have an 
important bearing upon the chick’s behaviour. When 
we draw the consequences of this connection, and recon- 
sider pecking as an analogy of reflexive eye-movements, 
we find that it makes no difference in the result whether 
we regard pecking as reflexive or instinctive. In either 
case we must assume that the sensorium and motorium 
together constitute one system. Whatever takes place 
in the sensorium influences the motorium, and vice versa, 
because all instinctive activities possess the character- 
istics of “closure.” Thus we havea bridge which carries 
us over from the instincts to the reflexes. And it is 
not only the example chosen which suggests this con- 
clusion; for everywhere one meets with instances 
concerning which one is in doubt whether they should 
be classified with the instincts or with the reflexes. For 

107 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


example, a pheasant just emerged from its shell, with 
its bill smeared with food, will at once proceed de- 
liberately to wipe its bill on the ground. 

But if, by emphasizing the common characteristics 
of both types of behaviour we can now close the gap 
which previously seemed so wide between the instincts 
and the reflexes (see p. 87), this does not signify a 
return to the point of view that instincts are chained 
reflexes. On the contrary, we have reversed the pro- 
cedure; for it is no longer the reflexive mechanism 
which is the fundamental fact of behaviour, but the 
characteristics of “closure” as they appear most clearly 
in the instinctive activities. Instead of trying to explain 
instincts in terms of reflexes, as Spencer and his followers 
have done, we would explain reflexes as instincts. But 
the question, wherein the difference arises which leads 
one in an unprejudiced observation to distinguish so 
clearly between reflexive and typically instinctive acts, 
is still open. How do reflexes become fixed mechanical 
types of work which suggest a mechanistic theory? To 
this question we can only intimate a direction in which 
an answer may be found. In addition to the reflexes 
themselves there are many other modes of behaviour 
which possess reflexive characteristics in a high degree. 
These are the so-called automatic activities—habitual 
movements which have been termed “ acquired reflexes,” 
though originally they were not automatic but voluntary 
acts which only became automatic as a result of frequent 
repetition. Since their quasi-reflexive character was 
acquired in this way, we can perhaps assume a similar 
relationship between the true reflexes and the instinctive 
activities. If the so-called acquired reflexes can be con- 
ceived as fixed voluntary acts, perhaps the pure reflexes 
are likewise conceivable as a result of instinctive fixa- 
tion. It is noteworthy that Erich Becher—who rejects 
a mechanistic theory of instinct, in favour of a psycho- 
vitalistic theory—adopts this interpretation of the 
reflexes, and tentatively ee for the reflexes the 

IO 


THE INSTINCTS OF INFANTS 


same principle which he has elaborated in explanation 
of the instincts *. 

One of the questions already raised has now been 
answered, in as much as we may assume that the mode 
of explanation applicable to eye-movements must in 
principle be applicable to all other reflexes. Yet it 
does not necessarily follow that the reflexive apparatus 
of the older theory with its system of neurones must in 
all cases disappear from the explanation ; for it is still 
conceivable that the fixation of a function may go hand 
in hand with the fixation of an organ as it develops a 
system within which the process can take place in a 
relatively independent manner. But even so, the 
apparatus itself would not be the cause but the con- 
sequence of this kind of functioning. The existence 
of such an apparatus therefore lends no weight to any 
argument for the older theory, or against the newer one. 

Finally, the problem of the utility of reflexive and 
instinctive activities must be attacked from quite a 
different angle than that indicated by the mechanistic 
theory ; because if the beginning and the successful 
ending of an activity are no longer determined by 
external bonds, we shall have to conceive the physio- 
logical process in such a way that the conclusion of the 
activity involves a peculiar condition towards which, for 
physical reasons, the whole process is directed. Let us 
remember, however, that, as Kohler has recently been 
able to demonstrate, physzcal does not necessarily signify 
mechanical, 


§ 9—The Instincts of New-Born Infants, with some 
General Remarks upon the Instincts of Man 


After this lengthy theoretical discussion, we may now 
return to a consideration of the instinctive movements 
of new-born infants. The most striking thing to be 
noted is that the infant makes very few movements, and 
very few well-developed serial activities which can be 
called “instinctive.” Stern singles out from among 

109 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


the activities of new-born infants an instinctive “attrac- 
tion” which draws the child towards different stimuli 
from the very first day of its life. Thus, an infant whose 
cheek is touched with the finger quickly turns its head 
in such a way that the finger is brought into contact 
with its mouth. Even upon the third day after birth, 
before any actual contact had been made, the nearness 
of the mother’s breast exerted this attraction in the case 
of Stern’s oldest daughter—the stimulus apparently 
being based upon sensitivity toodour. Similarly, inten- 
sive light-stimuli will cause the head to be turned in the 
direction of the light. As we have already seen, all 
these movements, and particularly the last one, are 
closely related to eye-movements. 

In possessing a complete picture of the infant’s first 
responses, it is of no great importance whether we follow 
Stern in accepting the instinct of attraction as being the 
only one besides suckling which asserts itself during the 
first weeks of life, or add to these two the movements of 
avoidance which Preyer observed in his son on and after 
the fourth day whenever the left breast, which he found 
it uncomfortable to nurse, was offered to him. Even 
the addition of other movements, with which we shall 
become acquainted in the following section of this 
chapter, affords as an inventory of the instincts function- 
ing from birth only a very paltry list as compared with 
the instincts of many animals standing much lower in 
the scale of development. “The really pitiable helpless- 
ness of the new-born human being is accounted for by 
a dearth of ready-made instinct-mechanisms,” says 
Bihler ” ; and this is quite true except that we should 
not employ the term “instinct-mechanism.” 

The conclusion that man, in a general way, possesses 
fewer instincts than any other animal has, however, been 
disputed. James in particular has tried to demonstrate 
the contrary. In order to understand how one can 
entertain James’s position, it is necessary to consider 
briefly certain peculiarities of instinct which we have 

ITO 


THE INSTINCTS OF INFANTS 


not yet discussed. In characterizing reflexes as stereo- 
typed instincts a very important difference between 
these two modes of behaviour is emphasized ; for while 
typical reflexes, like the pupillary reflex, are not at all 
influenced by the rest of one’s behaviour—if we except 
the facts of reflexive inhibition and facilitation (cf. above, 
p. 69)—just the opposite is true of instincts, which are 
greatly modified by individual experience during the 
lifetime of the animal. Chicks just hatched from the 
shell will peck at all sorts of objects within reach, pro- 
vided they are of a certain size. Hence, if one place 
before the chick a cinnabar caterpillar, which is readily 
distinguishable by vision on account of its alternating 
bands of black and gold, the chick will at once peck at 
it. But the caterpillar is immediately rejected, and the 
chick wipes its beak as a token of disgust. If the ex- 
periment is repeated after an interval of, say, one day, 
most chicks are already disposed to inhibit pecking 
before the caterpillar is attacked. Lloyd Morgan has 
fully described this transformation of an instinct by ex- 
perience ; a transformation which may take place after 
a single experience. The same investigator has also 
observed that young birds learn in this way to avoid 
pecking at their own fresh excrements. 

Another example can be given from a much lower 
stage in the animal series. It is well-known that stereo- 
typed modes of behaviour, called tropzsms, can be 
observed in lower forms of life. These may be char- 
acterized briefly as a positive or negative behaviour with 
respect to certain stimuli; that is, some stimuli are 
sought, while others are avoided. A cockroach possesses 
a negative photo-tropism, that is to say, it avoids the 
light and makes its abode in dark places. The experi- 
ment was made of stimulating a group of these insects, 
gathered together in the dark, by an electrical shock; 
the result was that the insects congregated thereafter on 
the lighted side of their cage. But the original tropism 
was not necessarily annulled on this account, any more 

II 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


than a chick loses its pecking instinct after an unpleasant 
experience with a cinnabar caterpillar, and, indeed, when 
the insects were removed to another and a differently 
constructed cage, they again took up their position on 
the darker side”. Tropisms are, therefore, subject 
to modification even with organisms quite low in the 
scale’; but reflexes, such as our pupillary reflex, can 
not be thus altered. 

Returning now to the instincts, an important inference 
can be drawn from this peculiarity. Since the instincts 
are influenced by the total behaviour of the organism, it 
becomes more difficult to recognize them the more 
numerous are the dispositions an organism may possess 
and employ other than instinctive. For under these 
more complicated circumstances a purely instinctive 
tendency can no longer assert itself, but must operate 
merely as one among many factors in the total behaviour 
of the organism. To maintain, therefore, that man is 
provided with a great abundance of instincts does not 
mean that we shall find in him, as we do in other animals, 
a series of relatively fixed courses of movement originally 
tending towards unknown goals. But it does mean that, 
despite the enormous individual differences determined 
by birth and environment, certain general tendencies are 
still discoverable in human behaviour. And although 
these tendencies appear in different ways under different 
conditions, they still give evidence of certain peculiarities 
common to all men. Needless to say we are not think- 
ing of these tendencies in terms of innate connections 
between neurones, as Thorndike does in his discussion 
of all the original tendencies. 

For the present this is about all we have to say of 
human instinct, although the problem of instinct and 
experience, to which Lloyd Morgan has dedicated an 
entire book, is overflowing with questions of detail 
which, if space permitted, could be profitably considered. 
The reader will find valuable data upon this subject in 


the works of Thorndike and McDougall, as well as in 
II2 


THE INSTINCTS OF INFANTS 


the book of Lloyd Morgan just referred to. In addi- 
tion, what James has to say of instinct is so vividly 
expressed that, although the fundamental differences 
between his point of view and the one here supported 
are extreme, the reading of his chapter is, nevertheless, 
to be highly recommended. 

One peculiarity of instinct should be mentioned, 
however, upon which James placed great emphasis. 
This is the so-called transitoriness of instincts. Many 
instincts would seem to have only a limited term of 
existence. They appear at one definite point of time 
and disappear at another, although their coming and 
going is not abrupt but gradual. If these instinctive 
dispositions are not allowed to function during the 
course of their existence—if they do not work them- 
selves through the individual’s behaviour so as to 
constitute habits, as we say—they will disappear, never 
to return. James derived his law from general obser- 
vation, but it has since been tested by experiment. 
Yerkes and Bloomfield observed the behaviour towards 
mice of kittens that had been fed with milk, and with 
meat and fish, for the most part cooked. In the course 
of the second month all eight of their kittens, coming 
from two different strains, showed the normal type of 
behaviour towards mice—the one strain earlier and the 
other later—quite like any ordinary cats, although 
these kittens had never seen a cat react to a mouse. 
The investigators conclude, therefore, that the instinct 
to kill mice appears usually at the end of the second 
month, and sometimes even a month earlier, This 
investigation is of special interest because, a few years 
before, another experiment-upon the behaviour of cats 
was carried out in the same laboratory by Berry who, 
among other things, dealt with this same problem. As 
a result of his experiments Berry reached the con- 
clusion that, although kittens have an _ instinctive 
tendency to run after running things, they must never- 
theless learn to kill mice, since their instinctive 

II3 H 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


tendency does not carry them to this extent. The 
apparent contradiction in these results is explained, 
however, by the fact that Berry’s animals were already 
five months old when they first came in contact with 
mice. It would seem, therefore, that the instinctive 
disposition noted by Yerkes and Bloomfield in the 
second month had by the fifth month disappeared, 
which gives us a very pretty example of the transitori- 
ness of instincts}. Similar exact observations in the 
case of man are lacking, and whether they are possible, 
in view of the greater complication of human behaviour, 
we can not yet say. 

It is not our intention to give a list of human in- 
stincts. Two-thirds of the first volume of Thorndike’s 
comprehensive work is taken up with a consideration 
of man’s original tendencies, and one may also refer to 
James for a discussion of this subject. For our part, 
we prefer to go into a few modes of behaviour appear- 
ing early in the course of human development, the 
instinctive character of which can hardly be doubted, 
since Kohler has also found them among the chim- 
panzees. I have in mind especially the instincts of 
cleanliness and adornment. We shall have to speak 
about walking as an instinct in the next chapter. 

Regarding cleanliness, I will quote Kohler’s vivid 
description? ‘I have observed but a single member 
of the species in captivity that was not coprophagous 
(a feeces-eater), and yet whenever one of them steps 
into feeces his foot loses its firm hold just as a human 
being’s would in a similar predicament; the animal 
then hobbles away until an opportunity is found to 
cleanse the foot, and in cleansing it the hand is never 
used, although but a moment ago the same substance 
was being conveyed to the mouth by the hand, the 
animal refusing to let go even under severe punish- 
ment. In cleaning his foot, however, the ape must 
have a stick or a piece of paper or cloth, and his 
gestures show unmistakably that the task is a dis- 

II4 


EXPRESSIVE MOVEMENTS 


agreeable one. Indeed, there can be no doubt that 
the animal’s behaviour is that of freeing himself from 
something nasty. This is also the case whenever any 
part of the body is dirtied. The dirt is removed as 
quickly as possible, and so far as my observation ex- 
tends, it is never removed with the naked hands, but 
always with the aid of something else, including such 
methods as rubbing against a wall or upon the ground.” 

Concerning adornment, Kohler found his animals pre- 
possessed of a tendency to hang all kinds of things 
upon their bodies, after which “the things hung upon the 
body functioned as adornments in the broadest sense.” 
Kohler believes, indeed, “that primitive adornment does 
not depend upon its visual effect on others, but exclusively 
upon a curious heightening of the animal’s own bodily 
feeling, pompousness, and self-consciousness, just as is 
the case with man when, for example, he drapes himself 
withsajsash,”) 2% 

It ought not to be difficult to observe similar ten- 
dencies in children; the existence of an instinct of 
adornment in particular might readily be determined 
with the aid of well-directed observations. To make 
sure of inherited tendencies of cleanliness will doubtless 
prove more difficult, since education takes powerful 
hold upon the child in this respect from the very 
beginning. It is possible, however, that paradoxes like 
those observed by Kohler in chimpanzees might also 
appear in children, though of a less disagreeable nature, 


§ 10—Expressive Movements 


We turn now to a final group of infantile movements 
which occupy a unique position by virtue of the im- 
pression they make upon every one who has anything 
to do with children. These movements influence one’s 
attitude toward the child, and give rise to the intimate 
relationship between the infant and the adults who 
attend him. Crying, laughing, and turning the head 

II5 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


away, all of which have been previously mentioned, 
together with certain other responses we are about to 
describe, constitute what are commonly referred to as 
“expressive movements.” In the infant these expres- 
sions are inborn, being conditioned by inherited dis- 
position. Yet they seem to differ from other instincts, 
first of all, in that they do not stand in any direct 
relation to definite consequences. This distinction is 
not absolute, however, as we have seen in the case of 
turning the head described by Preyer, which was speci- 
fied as being instinctive. One may say that crying 
continues until the child is relieved from a painful 
situation; but even so, the relation between this re- 
action and its consequence is a rather loose one, because 
crying is not of service to the child in the same way 
as suckling the mother’s breast. In adults, most of the 
expressive movements seem to be entirely useless. 
Nevertheless the assumption is justified that at some 
earlier stage of life many of these actions have had 
significance for the organism. To-day they may have 
lost their original function, and yet still play an im- 
portant part in their influence upon the behaviour of 
others. It is also quite possible that many of these 
expressions have always served a social purpose. Thus 
Ordahl observed that when birds feed their young the 
largest portion always goes to those that cry most and 
loudest.?° 

In calling these actions expressive movements, it is 
necessary to warn against a certain misunderstanding ; 
for although the movements to which we refer do ex- 
press something, so that we are able to observe whether 
a man is pleased or angry; yet, as a rule, the man 
himself does not make these expressive movements for 
the purpose of expressing anything at all. The idea 
that expressive movements are intentional—which in 
so crude a form would hardly be advanced by any one 
—is energetically opposed by Thorndike, who holds 
that the movements pas aa of emotion may, on the 

ai € 


EXPRESSIVE MOVEMENTS 


one hand, be biologically more important and more 
original than the emotion itself, and that, on the other 
hand, while they tend to alter the situation for the 
reagent, they do not serve as a means of communication. 
Indeed, according to Thorndike, the social effect of 
expressive movements may be quite direct. One may 
be led to comfort a child without first considering that 
he is unhappy, and when the mother bird gives the 
most food to that young one that cries the loudest, this 
also takes place without any deliberation on the part of 
the parent-bird. 

The questions before us are two: How to understand 
social influences, and what the relation is between 
emotion and expressive movements. If we are content 
to fall back upon external inborn connections, as Thorn- 
dike does, we find no better explanation than we did 
in the case of instinctive activity. Furthermore, if 
“outer” and “inner” behaviour are anywhere actually 
related, surely the expressive movements must be 
instances par excellence. Can we believe that the 
emotions have obtained their expressive movements, 
or that these movements have obtained their emotions, 
merely by selection based upon fitness? 

Reverting to some previous suggestions (cf. p. 21), 
let us follow Kohler’s discussion and try to indicate the 
nature of the hypothesis needed to fit this case. “If 
we were to represent behaviour graphically by means of 
a time-curve, the behaviour of fright might show an 
abrupt rise in the curve, followed by a gradual fall. 
The dynamics of the phenomenal or mental processes 
accompanying this behaviour would then be indicated 
by a curve of essentially the same character—and so 
would a purely electro-motor process in a photo-electric 
element when it is suddenly and briefly exposed to the 
light.” Now let us assume that the terms “abrupt rise” 
and “gradual fall,’ used in these three cases, are not 
merely analogous, but are in some sense identical, “ then, 


in principle at least, it is possible that a material relation 
II7 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


exists between the mental processes of a living creature, 
and the total impression made by movements of the 
creature’s limbs upon one who witnesses the movement.” 
The connection between emotion and movement, in- 
cluding instinctive movement, is thus conceivable in a 
way which includes an understanding of the expressive 
movements. 

In our first chapter it was noted that certain real 
entities of behaviour correspond to the total impression 
which an animal’s behaviour makes upon us (cf. p. 21). 
In addition to other characteristics, no less important in 
solving this problem, every form of behaviour has a 
certain articulation or phrasing. This articulation issues 
from a similar articulation of the central nervous pro- 
cesses of the acting individual. This central articulation 
in turn corresponds to the individual’s “experience” 
which is articulated in a like manner. Thus the per- 
ception in the mind of an onlooker, if it be so constituted 
as to embrace what is going on in the reagent, must 
itself possess a similar articulation. And hence the 
experience of the reagent A, and of the observant B 
must resemble each other. 

Kohler elucidates this point with a striking example: 
When a pianist moved by his feelings articulates a series 
of muscular innervations with varying degrees of phras- 
ing, fixed time-relations are determined in the series of 
sound-waves which constitute a sort of physical pro- 
jection of the phrasing of his muscular innervations, 
thus conditioning in the mind of the listener an articu- 
lated auditory process which closely resembles the 
pianist’s own nervous articulations *”°. 

Biihler distinguishes in the first weeks of life four 
different expressive movements ; namely, crying, smiling, 
head-deflection as avoidance, and pursing the lips. Con- 
cerning the first of these it may be remarked that to 
screaming, which is the sole type of crying at birth, 
weeping is added after the third week, at which time 
a true smile likewise appears, although even before this 

118 


THE SENSITIVITY OF INFANTS 


an expression may be observed which Preyer has called 
“contentment.” 

“The pursing of the lips, finally, is a peculiar gesture 
which can be aroused in the first weeks of life by touch- 
ing the lips of a hungry infant with an object which is 
immediately withdrawn. The mouth at once takes on 
the peculiar shape characteristic of sucking. Later on 
this pursing of the lips may be observed to accompany 
any kind of attentiveness”. The movement clearly 
betrays its origin; for, in the first place, it is not an 
expressive movement, but one directed towards a goal. 
The lips continue, as it were, to follow the goal even 
after it has been withdrawn; in this respect the act is 
quite as instinctive as turning the head. 

Lastly, facial grimaces occasioned by sours, bitters, 
and sweets, also belong to the characteristic expressive- 
movements which appear at birth, 


§ 11—The Sensitivity of Infants 


We have now surveyed the movements made by a 
new-born infant. What, then, is the nature of his 
sensitivity? In other words, what sort of stimuli pro- 
voke his reactions, and how do the different senses share 
in their reception? We have formulated the question 
of sensitivity very cautiously, because there is no other 
way of testing the sensitivity of a new-born infant than 
by observing whether or not a controlled stimulation is 
followed by a reaction. In experimenting with an adult 
we can secure direct information whether a certain 
stimulus has affected him or not—whether, for instance, 
he has heard something or not. Wecanask directly if a 
certain stimulus has been phenomenally apprehended, and 
thus limit the reaction to the observer’s “inner behaviour.” 
In the case of an infant, however, we are altogether 
dependent upon the evidence of his external behaviour, 
We must, therefore, be careful not to confuse the problem 
of conscious phenomena with that of sensitivity. 

119 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


From the first all the sense-organs give rise to reflex- 
movements’, and hence sensitivity can be attributed to 
all sense departments, yet the different senses exhibit a 
great variation with respect both to delicacy and to the 
differentiation of their response to stimulation. Stern 
has clearly described these relations’ and we shall 
follow his division of the senses into three groups: 


(i) The Senses of the Skin 


1. Touch shows the greatest differentiation of re- 
sponse, since different reactions take place according to 
the particular point at which the stimulus is applied. 
This fact is apparent from numerous reactions with which | 
every one is familiar. A touch in the region of the eyes 
occasions closing the lids; a touch on the lips gives rise 
to movements of suckling ; contact with the palm of the 
hand causes the hand to close, and contact with the sole 
of the foot causes a spreading of the toes. 

But not all regions of the skin are sensitive in the 
same degree that they are in adults. According to 
Preyer, the mucous membranes of the lips and nose are 
hypersensitive in infancy, while the regions of the trunk, 
forearm and thighs, are hyposensitive. 

2. The end-organs for temperature are to a consider- 
able extent functional at birth. Bathing-water and 
milk must be of the right temperature or they are 
refused by the infant. 

3. Sensitivity to pain, on the contrary, is subnormal. 


(il) The Chemical Senses and Sight 


1. Taste. Here again there are very distinct differ- 
ences of reaction: sweet substances are swallowed ; 
while those markedly sour, bitter, or salty, are rejected; 
at the same time we can readily observe a characteristic 
facial expression to sweets, sours, and bitters. Finer 
discriminations are not long delayed, as was evidenced 
in the case of Preyer’s son who refused thinned cow’s 
milk as early as the fourth day. Theinfant’s preference 

I20 


THE SENSITIVITY OF INFANTS 


for sweet things grows continually, so that he may even 
refuse the breast if the bottle-milk is sweeter. 

2. Attraction- and avoidance-reactions can also be 
aroused by the sense of smell. Turning towards the 
mother’s breast has already been mentioned ; a positive 
avoidance of the breast can also be induced by smearing 
it with some evil-smelling substance. 

3. We have previously discussed the important re- 
actions of the eyes, including the pupillary reflex, the 
closing of the lids upon the incidence of a strong light, 
and the direction of the eyes toward bright objects. It 
should be realized, however, that there are enormous 
differences between the optical adjustments of adults 
and those of new-born infants. We shall have occasion 
to refer to a special peculiarity in the visual sensitivity 
of infants when we come to consider the development 
of perception. This peculiarity has to do with a remark- 
able limitation of the field of vision with respect to its 
extension and depth, 

(iii) Audition 

The observation of differentiated and specific reactions 
to auditory stimuli is quite impossible. Intense sounds 
only provoke shuddering, raising of the eyelids, etc. 
On the other hand, the infant can be quieted by sound- 
stimuli (whistling) as early as the first week of its life. 
The human voice seems to affect the child very soon 
after birth, and, indeed, the first differentiated reactions 
to auditory stimuli seem to be aroused in this way. 


When we survey these three main divisions of sen- 
sitivity (i-iii) we find that in general they correspond to 
a rank-order of capacities. With the exception of 
sensitivity to pain, the skin-senses stand at the top of 
the list with reference to differentiation, while hearing 
is at the bottom, and the others in between. This 
rank-order agrees very well with certain anatomical 
facts; for Flechsig has shown that the nervous paths 
leading from the sense-organs to the cortex are not 

I2t 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


medullated at the same time, those of the skin being 
completed first and those of hearing last. Thus, the 
development of the organs and their functions appear 
to be closely connected. 

At the beginning of this section the manner in which 
we propose to consider the sensitivity of infants was 
defined, and thus far we have limited ourselves to 
objective behaviour. But now that we have answered 
the question of sensitivity under this limitation, we may 
proceed to consider the limitation itself and inquire if 
any features are to be found in the behaviour called 
forth by sensory stimulation which would warrant the 
assumption of a corresponding “inner” experience, . 
In other words, we are now almost ready to take up the 
so-called question of consciousness, and shall do so in 
the last sections of this chapter. But before that, 
another problem confronts us, 


§ 12—Disposttional Plasticity 


Up to the present we have been trying to learn 
something of the new-born infant’s motility and sensi- 
tivity. In each inquiry we have had todo with inherited 
modes of behaviour, or dispositions. But we have not 
yet exhausted the description of the infant’s endow- 
ments; for many inherited reactions are not yet 
functional at birth, and only attain their maturity at a 
later time. Even this leaves us with a considerable gap 
in our knowledge; because development is not alonea 
matter of maturation, but also one of learning. The 
modes of reaction that differentiate the adult from the 
new-born child are quite unlike those that differentiate 
a grown hen from a chick. Human modes of response 
are only in small measure the result of innate reactions 
which, though characteristic of the whole species, are 
merely delayed in their maturation. On the contrary, 
the distinction between the development of a chick and 
the development of a human being is based upon 

I22 


DISPOSITIONAL PLASTICITY 


individual acquisitions. Hen and man differ not only 
in their dispositions leading to definite types of reaction, 
but first of all in the fact that man acquires individual 
reactions of an incomparably higher type. And this 
capacity to learn is likewise an inherited disposition. 
In comparison with the rigid dispositions previously 
mentioned, the disposition to learn may be ascribed to 
plasticity, and a large measure of plasticity is one of the 
striking characteristics of man (cf. above Chapter II, 
p. 41). As Bihler remarks, plastic dispositions “do not 
completely determine what shall take place, since they 
are subject to modification by the activity itself” ™4. 
This conception of plasticity as dispositional may 
easily lead us into difficulties if we think of dispositions 
only as certain predetermined bonds of connection in 
the system of neurones; because from this point of view 
one is led to regard plasticity as nothing more than a 
lack of definite connections, Indeed, it has been argued 
that the fewer fixed connections an organism brings 
with it into the world, the less it is bound to employ 
definite reactions, and the more it can learn by experi- 
ence. Thorndike seizes upon this explanation and 
traces its consequences with great thoroughness", Yet 
the fact that an organism possesses no definite bond 
leading from a situation S to a certain reaction R}, can 
not be assumed to explain at all why the reaction should 
be R?’ or R* with which S is no more definitely connected 
than it is with R’. The mere fact that my sneezing- 
reflex does not function, would not of itself lead me to 
use my handkerchief, or to seek a physician who can 
remove some foreign body which has lodged in my nasal 
passages. Reactions such as these all demand a positive 
basis — definite bonds, as Thorndike conceives them— 
quite as much as does the sneezing itself. Neither can 
we say that a number of reactions which have no definite 
bonds with any particular situation are better suited to 
explain plasticity than just as many reactions, or even 
more, each of which is assumed to be definitely connected 
123 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


with a specific situation. Every connection must indeed 
be a connection of some definite kind; consequently, 
indefiniteness can not furnish the explanation of plas- 
ticity. Plasticity, which Thorndike identifies with 
multiple response to a single situation, depends, according 
to his view, upon a fecundity of unlearned connections, 
providing as it does that a reaction which does not lead 
to an end is forthwith resolved into another and again 
into still another until finally the end is attained. 

Thorndike makes no distinction between rigid and 
plastic dispositions. To him all dispositions are either 
simple or more complex bonds of connection between 
neurones. Consequently, the question of plasticity for - 
him reduces itself to this: What kind of inherited bonds 
does man possess which other animals lack ; or, stated 
in reverse order, what bonds does man lack which make 
it possible for him to learn so much more than any other 
animal ? 

Since we have refused to accept Thorndike’s funda- 
mental assumptions, the problem appears quite differently 
tous. Having found no reason for accepting a system 
of fixed bonds as the mechanism of unlearned functions, 
we are under no obligation to discover an apparatus of 
learning in any hypothetical system of bonds between 
neurones, whether inherited or acquired. A solution of 
this problem will be attempted in the next chapter, but 
this much may be said at once: If we abandon the view 
that learning is merely a matter of new combinations of 
connections already in existence, then plasticity becomes 
something more significant and more definite than even 
Biihler makes it out to be; because the question is now 
before us whether anything new can take place in the 
behaviour of an individual which can not be referred to 
a re-combination of old elements. If this question is 
answered in the affirmative, a line will be drawn between 
those organisms that are capable of creative responses, 
and those that are not; or at least a distinction can then 
be made with respect to greater and lesser degrees of 

124 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


creative capacity 4%. It would then follow that plasticity 
must be something more than memory—something more 
than the retention of an achievement by the simple means 
of effecting a new combination of reaction-pathways 
which the organism already possesses—and we could 
then rightfully say that by virtue of his plasticity man 
is superior to all other living creatures. A further infer- 
ence is also possible, and one which gives us an outlook 
upon the progress of our investigation; for, apart from 
the reflexes, the distinction usually drawn between 
instinct and habit no longer exhausts the possibilities 
of behaviour. Provision is now made for a new and 
important type of response which has neither an in- 
stinctive basis nor has it yet become habitual. 

In comparing Thorndike’s explanation of behaviour 
with the one here being developed, we find that the two 
methods of approach are based upon quite different 
principles. Thorndike confines himself exclusively to 
the question where the act takes place; and since for 
him all acts are alike, the problem reduces itself to the 
bonds established between separate neurones. We, on 
the contrary, find ourselves faced with the question what 
it is that takes place. And hence, we are not interested 
in a nervous pathway which always affords the same 
kind of excitation, but in the specific form of excitation 
requisite for the behaviour under consideration. 


§ 13—The Infant’s Phenomenal Experience. Methodo- 
logical Considerations with Respect to the Question 
of Consciousness, and the Phenomena of Mental 
Configurations 


We come now to the last problem of this chapter. 
Thus far the infant has been described as an object of 
natural-scientific observation. We have noted what he 
does and what kind of stimuli determine his responses ; 
but the question remains, how does his behaviour appear 
to the infant himself? Does he know anything of his 

125 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


behaviour? Does he have any experience when he is 
stimulated and reacts? Is there any “descriptive” side 
to his behaviour? Or, to employ the usual terminology, 
is the infant conscious of his behaviour? The problem 
may be divided into two parts. Has the infant any 
consciousness at all, and if so, how is this consciousness 
constituted in the beginning? The first question can 
be easily answered and is of relatively little importance. 
Since the infant certainly attains consciousness after a 
shorter or a longer period of time, it is relatively un- 
important whether consciousness begins earlier or later, 
and we have no absolute criterion by means of which a 
decision can be reached. It has often been thought 
that one must deny consciousness to the new-born infant 
upon the assumption that he is, then, a purely pale- 
encephalic being. If this were so the new-born child 
could not possibly have any experiences, but would live 
as a plant lives, without even hunger or satiety, pleasure 
or pain. But the behaviour of the brainless child re- 
ported by Edinger and Fischer indicated that in com- 
parison normal children, even from the hour of their 
birth, differ from brainless children. The assumption 
that the cerebrum plays no part in early infancy is 
therefore unproved, and we are under no necessity of 
denying some form of consciousness even at birth. 
Against the hypothesis of an unconscious beginning, 
both the very early expressive movements as well as 
the “expression” upon the infant’s features may be 
cited. Preyer’ points out that even from the first day 
a contented facial expression can be differentiated from 
a discontented one, whereas Edinger and Fischer report 
that their anencephalic infant never showed the slightest 
trace of expression. We may therefore turn to our 
second question ; namely, what kind of experiences can 
the new-born infant have? 

Since the infant’s consciousness is not directly acces- 
sible to us, the question we have raised calls for the 
‘exercise of what at the eta of this book was 

I2 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


referred to as a “consideration from within.” We can 
not directly conjure forth the world of a new-born infant 
in our own minds, any more than we can see with the 
infant’s eyes, feel through his sense of touch, or be told 
anything by him. Therefore we must reconstruct his 
situation for ourselves. Why we should not forgo this 
difficult task altogether, has already been indicated 
(cf. p. 15 f.); but how shall we begin it? The ordinary 
man, ignorant of psychology, assumes it to be self- 
evident that the world is essentially the same to every one; 
although to a new-born infant things must appear less 
complete, less distinct, and less familiar than they do 
to the adult. When such a person attributes a mental 
achievement to an infant—as, for instance, when he 
says that a child “thinks”—he really means that the 
child’s thought is of the same order as his own, being 
merely an imperfect copy of what goes on in his own 
mind. A person somewhat better acquainted with 
psychology would perhaps turn up his nose at this 
naive conception, but it may be doubted if the position 
he would take is necessarily a better one; for what he 
usually does is merely to apply to the suckling a theory 
derived from current psychology, which enables him to 
define mental “incompleteness” by attributing to the 
infant fewer sensations, no associations, etc. It need 
scarcely be repeated that a true psychology of childhood 
can not be achieved in this way. Indeed, we must 
begin with the “specific beginning-stage” of develop- 
ment whose peculiar nature it is our task to discover, 
To those for whom psychological ways of thinking 
are unfamiliar, the following example may clarify the 
problem. Although two men are born into the same 
real world, its phenomenal aspects are not necessarily 
the same for each. It is often said that there is no use 
in quarrelling over tastes, because in the very same 
situation one person may find himself altogether dis- 
satisfied, while another is charmed. It is the task of 
the psychologist to trace this difference in behaviour to 
127 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


its source. When this has been done it will often be 
discovered that, quite apart from feeling and evaluating, 
persons of conflicting tastes are actually experiencing 
quite different phenomena. For example, in looking 
at a picture one person sees nothing but a confusion of 
clashing colours, while another sees an admirable and 
expressive work of art; or, again, where one person 
hears only a chaos of clangs, another is being impressed 
by a richly ornamental musical theme. The examples 
chosen are as crude as possible, in order to make it 
quite clear to the reader that the same external situation 
may furnish phenomenal contents which are entirely 
different. In each example it can be said that the 
experience of the first-named person was less adequate 
than that of the second; but it is obviously impossible 
to believe that this inadequacy rests upon fewer sensa- 
tions or upon fewer associated ideas. Let us now apply 
these examples to the infant’s consciousness. In asking 
how the world is reflected in the experience of a new- 
born infant, the fact that the world is reflected very 
differently, even in the phenomena of adult experience, 
permits us to make use of just such differences as 
our examples have furnished in arriving at a correct 
description of the “inadequacy” of an infant’s mind. 
The argument, which has previously been negative 
in trend, now becomes positive. The objective world 
does not suffice to determine the experience of an 
individual; to this must be added the constitution of 
the individual himself. The new-born infant expertences 
the world differently from us adults, just as an unmusical 
person hears a symphony dfferently from one who is 
musical. 
But how can we find out the nature of this difference? 
How shall we proceed to reconstruct the phenomenal 
world of a new-born baby? Our previous considera- 
tions indicate that our reconstruction of the infant’s 
consciousness must “fit” the observed facts of its 
“ objective” behaviour, that : to say, the two must fit 
IZ 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


together in the same way in which the phenomenal 
world of the adult fits his objective behaviour. It 
ought, therefore, to be possible to turn the results of 
experimental psychology to account in the solution of 
our problem, without falling into any of the errors 
against which we have warned. If we find the 
behaviour of the infant to be but slightly differenti- 
ated, as compared with our own, then we must try to 
find some movements in our own behaviour which are 
also slightly differentiated as compared with other 
movements. When this has been done, we can com- 
pare the two with reference to the phenomena usually 
connected with more and with less differentiated move- 
ments, and if any characteristic distinction is found, we 
must then try to carry it over to the phenomena of 
infants. Ina concrete case we shall have to examine 
each bit of infantile behaviour for itself, and work out 
its typical differences from the corresponding behaviour 
of adults, before we can proceed to reconstruct its 
phenomenal aspect. We must deny that “objective” 
and “subjective” behaviour have no inner connection, 
and are simply bound to one another like the obverse 
and reverse of a coin which might be stamped in any 
way ; for if this were so, we might as well give up any 
attempt to reconstruct the infant’s experience. But, 
on the contrary, we insist that behaviour can not be 
described in its entirety until we are acquainted with 
both its aspects, and that only then can we give it an 
adequate explanation. The position we have taken 
holds, not only for infants, but for the whole of child- 
psychology, in so far as it is concerned with the 
phenomena of mind. An older child is not a “little 
man”; and just as his behaviour differs from that of 
an adult, so also do his experiences differ. 

How, then, shall we proceed to reconstruct the 
experiences of a human being during the first days 
of his life? First let us inquire, what are the most 
important features of his behaviour? Quite obviously, 

129 I 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


they are his gross bodily conditions, such as hunger, 
satiety, fatigue, freshness—all of which can be under- 
stood in a purely objective way. Let us consider these 
conditions as they seem to us. When we “feel fresh,” 
there are no very definite reactions connected with this 
condition (as there are, for instance, when we drive a 
nail into the wall). Our feeling of freshness can be 
explained in all sorts of movements, so long as we move 
at all. The situation is reversed, but no more specific, 
when we feel tired, and seek quiet. Even when we are 
hungry, all that this phenomenon determines is that we 
should do something in order to obtain food. Whether 
we cut a piece of bread, seek a restaurant, or do some- 
thing else, depends upon a thousand things which have 
nothing to do with the feeling of hunger. And when 
we are satisfied, we simply stop eating. In all these 
instances the objective behaviour of the infant appears 
to be essentially the same as our own. When he is 
refreshed, he moves about; when he is tired, he lies 
still; when he needs nourishment, he cries until he is 
offered the breast; and when he has had enough, 
he stops sucking. To be sure, his behaviour is very 
slightly differentiated, but so would ours be under 
similar circumstances. Nevertheless, his behaviour is of 
enormous biological significance, so that we may quite 
justly conclude that the states we recognize as hunger, 
etc., are among the first experiences an infant has; and 
that they are, in point of fact, phenomenally quite similar 
to our own. 

But what can be said of those experiences which put 
us in touch with the outer world? How are the per- 
ceptions of an infant constituted? We find the new- 
born child capable of movement whenever external 
stimuli come in contact with his senses; that is, 
whenever the equilibrium of his condition is disturbed. 
For instance, a bright object appears in the field of 
vision and the eyes move; a contact is made with a 
certain place on the hand and the fingers close, etc. 

130 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


In every case a state of rest is interrupted; into the 
already existing world wherein the child was at rest a 
new factor has been introduced which disturbs his 
quiescence, If we wish to reconstruct the phenomenal 
counterpart of this objective behaviour we must con- 
sider the child’s state as a whole. Consequently, we 
ought not to say that the child sees a luminous point ; 
but rather that the child sees a luminous point upon an 
indifferent background; or, in the case of touch, that 
pressure is felt upon the hand, otherwise untouched. 
Generally stated, from an unlimited and ill - defined 
background there has arisen a limited and somewhat 
definite phenomenon, a quality. Whether or not the 
background existed phenomenally even before the new 
factor emerged from it, will be discussed later. Here 
it is sufficient to note that when a quality appears, 
the “indifferent” ground must also be. considered 
as more or less “uniform.” We are presupposing that 
before the appearance of the stimulus the child was at 
rest, and not moving. Inferring phenomena of experi- 
ence from behaviour, an undifferentiated phenomenon 
must correspond to the absolutely undifferentiated 
behaviour of quiescence. The reader should not 
forget that we are speaking of the earliest beginnings 
of consciousness ; and that it is the very first experience 
of the child that we are attempting to characterize. 
Our characterization is, then, this: That the first 
phenomena are qualities upon a ground. Introducing 
at this point a new concept, they are the simplest 
mental configurations. The phenomenal appearance in 
consciousness divides itself into a given quality, and a 
ground upon which the quality appears—a level from 
which it emerges. It is, however, a part of the nature 
of a quality that it should lie upon a ground, or, as we 
may also say, that it should rise above a level. Such 
a co-existence of pheromena in which each member 
“carries every other”™*®, and in which each member 
possesses its peculiarity only by virtue of, and in con- 
131 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


nection with, all the others, we shall henceforth call 
a configuration. According to this view, the most 
primitive phenomena are figural; as examples, the 
luminous point set off from a uniform background ; 
something cold at a place upon the skin set off from 
the usual temperature of the rest of the skin; the too 
cold or too warm milk in contrast with the temperature 
level of the mouth-cavity. We attribute configurations, 
also, to such reactions as the rejection of milk when it 
is not of the right temperature; thus milk in the mouth 
may lead either to an “adequate” or to an “inadequate” 
configuration. 

To many this view of the constitution of the most 
primitive phenomena will appear very odd indeed ; for 
it assumes that a certain order dominates experience 
from the beginning, whereas we would be in much 
better agreement with current views if we were to 
assume that order comes only as a result of experience 
—a theory which has given rise to the view that the 
consciousness of the new-born infant is nothing but a 
confused mass of separate sexsations, some of which 
are present earlier than others, because of the earlier 
maturation of their appropriate brain-centres. Upon 
the basis of such a theory the sense of vision would 
seem to supply the child with a chaotic mass of achro- 
matic and chromatic impressions, like the colours upon 
a painter’s palette, from which experience would pro- 
ceed to choose the ones that are requisite to constitute 
his perceptual world. And this doctrine is founded 
upon one of the fundamental presuppositions with 
which psychology has long worked; namely, that 
single mental units called sensations are aroused in a 
simple manner by stimulation, and from them every 
other kind of experience is derived by a process of 
association #6, The behaviour of the child, however, 
certainly does not of itself suggest any such presump- 
tion. A few arguments may also be added which 
directly contradict it, and at the same time support 

132 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


our hypothesis of the configurative character of the 
first sensory phenomena. 

1. Our principle of reconstructing the phenomena 
of infantile experience in such a way that they will fit 
the child’s behaviour, would certainly not lead us to 
assume that a new-born infant possesses an abundance 
of mental phenomena. On the contrary, his behaviour 
seems to demonstrate that there are very few motives 
which can set him in action 1, 

2. If the theory of original chaos were correct, one 
would expect “simple” stimuli to be the first to arouse 
the reaction and interest of the child; because simple 
stimuli ought to be the ones first to be singled out 
from the chaos for association with one another. This, 
however, contradicts all our experience. It is not the 
stimuli the psychologist takes to be simple, because 
they correspond to his elementary sensations, that are 
most influential in the behaviour of a baby. The first 
differentiated reactions to sound are aroused by the 
human voice whose stimuli (and “sensations’’) are very 
complicated, indeed. Nor is the interest of a suckling 
aroused by a single colour, but by human faces, as Miss * 
Shinn has expressly reported to be the case with her 
niece after the child’s 25th day. Think what sort of 
experience must parallel the process of distinguishing, 
among an infinite variety of chaotic images, the father’s 
from the mother’s face (and more than this, a friendly 
from an unfriendly countenance), the sensations of 
which are constantly undergoing change. On the other 
hand, “it may be observed occasionally even in the 
second month of life that a child does not remain in- 
different to certain impressions which he has frequently 
had—the face and voice of the mother especially—for 
they cause him to laugh softly. By the second quarter- 
year this recognition has developed into ‘ discrimination,’ 
and thereafter the child behaves quite differently toward 
familiar persons than he does toward strangers” 8 
As early as the middle of the first year of life an 

133 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


influence of the parents’ facial expression upon the 
child may be noted. According to the chaos-theory 
the phenomena corresponding to a human face can be 
nothing but a confused mass of the most varied light-, 
dark-, and colour-sensations, all in a constant state of 
alteration—changing with every movement of the person 
observed, or of the child himself, and likewise subject 
to every change of illumination. Yet the child recog- 
nizes its mother’s face as early as the second month, 
and in the middle of the first year it reacts quite 
differently to a “friendly” face than it does to an 
“angry” face. Furthermore, this difference is of a 
kind which obliges us to conclude that “friendly ” and 
“angry” faces are phenomenal facts to the infant, and 
not mere distributions of light and shade. It seems 
quite impossible to explain this behaviour by experience, 
upon the assumption that these phenomena arise from 
an original chaos of sensations in which single visual 
sensations combine with one another, together with 
pleasant or unpleasant consequences. One of Kohler’s 
observations is here in point 1%: “ By suddenly showing 
signs of the greatest terror, while staring at a certain 
spot as though possessed, it is not difficult to make all 
the chimpanzees in the station look at the same place 
at once. Immediately all the black company starts as 
if it had been struck by lightning and proceeds to stare 
at the same spot, even though there is nothing to be 
seen there. According to the usual view this involves 
an inference drawn by analogy from what is taking 
place in ‘my consciousness.’” The animals understand 
this terror-stricken direction of the gaze zmmediately, 
and an inference by analogy from Kohler’s conscious- 
ness of terror would be an altogether absurd explanation. 

Is it not possible that phenomena, such as “ friendli- 
ness” and “unfriendliness,’ are very primitive—even 
more so than the visual impression of a “blue spot”? 
However absurd this possibility may seem to a psycho- 
logist who regards all consciousness as being ultimately 


134 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


made up of elements, it ceases to be absurd as soon as 
one reconsiders the matter biologically, while bearing 
in mind that all psychological phenomena stand in the 
closest relation to objective behaviour. “ Friendliness” 
and “unfriendliness” certainly influence behaviour, 
whereas it is not easy to understand how the behaviour 
of so primitive an organism as the human infant could 
be motivated by a “blue spot.” On similar grounds 
Scheler concludes “that of all the external objects 
apprehended by man, ‘expression’ is the very first.” 
With this statement we are in full accord, if the con- 
notation of the term “expression” is made sufficiently 
broad to include such behaviour as a response to light 
in darkness. 

Referring again to what has already been said about 
the perception of “expression” (p. 117), we need only 
add one further remark upon this subject. If we accept 
phenomena such as “ friendliness” and “ unfriendliness ” 
as primitive, we must maintain that primitive phenomena 
are indivisible into perceptive and affective elements, 
and that a “subjective” feeling does not exist along- 
side of, though apart from, “objective” perceptions, but 
that gua phenomenon, the primitive world of experience 
embraces affective determinations just as it does those 
we are accustomed to characterize as objective. Thus 
we find ourselves again in complete accord with many 
standard authors.! Folk-psychology teaches the same 
thing—namely, that for men of primitive culture the 
world is full of qualities which we are accustomed to 
characterize as emotional and which we consider purely 
subjective, egotistical, ingredients. But, of course, 
what we imply is that the first perceptive phenomena 
already carry with them the characteristics of objectivity, 
which phenomena, such as freshness and hunger, lack. 
It goes without saying that one must not use the term 
“objectivity ” in the sense in which it is employed by the 
philosophers. All we mean is that perceptive phenomena 
are something other than “organic feelings”; and that 

135 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


the distinction between subject and object is not learned, 
but is given, no matter in how primitive a form, in the 
very first phenomena of the infant mind. 

3. Brod and Weltsch}% advance the following argu- 
ment in opposition to the view that mind is originally 
a mosaic of innumerable sensations. It happens some- 
times, either intentionally or through inattention and 
fatigue, that the developed phenomena of adult life are 
“screwed down” in the direction of a less developed state. 
We have all experienced states of distraction in which 
our consciousness is transformed into an inarticulate 
unity. The world then appears, not variegated, but 
monotonous. The assumption ofan original multiplicity 
would be untenable in the light of this experience ; 
because we have here the inarticulate uniformity already 
described as the phenomenal ground from which a 
quality emerges. Imagine this modification, which our 
adult world of perception sometimes undergoes, carried 
to an extreme: May we not assume that we would 
then revert to the first and most primitive of conscious 
phenomena? The only question would be where to set 
a limit, for ultimately this limit appears to lead us to 
nought. In the end, with absolute monotony, have we 
any consciousness at all? Previously we left open the 
question whether the inarticulate ground - work upon 
which the quality of an experience appears is already 
there before the quality emerges, or whether it arises 
with the quality itself. To affirm the question asked 
above would be to accept the second alternative; namely, 
that the most primitive phenomenon of consciousness is 
not the inarticulate ground-work, but the configuration, 
or quality, which arises from this uniform background. 
This opinion seems to me the more tenable of the two, 
because the phenomenon of a uniform ground-work 
would be meaningless for behaviour, and therefore a 
pure luxury. Furthermore, this opinion is directly 
supported by certain marked disturbances of perception 
which involve organic changes of the brain; it having 


136 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


been found that certain patients are quite unable to see 
a complicated figure when their condition prevents them 
from grasping its configuration ™, 

Ground and quality, although phenomenally insepar- 
able (cf. above), would seem therefore to arise together. 
A part of the world is thus differentiated and appears 
as a quality, whereas whatever remains may still appear 
as a uniform ground, though in reality it is extremely 
complex. I emphasize this statement in order to give 
point to the following fact: We can not construe the 
phenomenon corresponding to a given stimulus-pattern 
as though each particular stimulus had its own special 
phenomenon, such as can be discovered under the con- 
ditions of a psychological experiment which analyzes 
the stimulus-pattern into discrete stimuli, and studies 
their phenomenal correlates separately. Indeed, the 
assumption which is commonly made that sensation is 
determined once and for all by its stimulus, will simply 
have to be abandoned. 

4. Finally, there is direct proof that simple configura- 
tions must be regarded as very primitive phenomena. 
It is customary in animal- psychology to perform the 
following type of experiment, known as “selective train- 
ing.” An animal is presented with two stimuli, such, 
for instance, as a lighter and a darker gray paper, and 
is trained to seek food with reference to one of them, 
but not with the other. It has been thought that in 
this way one could test two things, first, whether the 
animal experiences two phenomena, or sensations, cor- 
responding to the two stimuli, and, secondly, how his 
memory operates with and after training. Leaving 
aside the second problem, let us consider the first one. 
It is usual to explain training in the following way: 
The animal learns to seek one sensation and to avoid 
the other. Each sensation, therefore, becomes con- 
nected with a different mode of behaviour. We may 
call the sensation the animal seeks the “ positive” and 
the other the “negative,” and apply these terms to their 

137 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


corresponding stimuli. Kohler undertook the following 
experiment: he first trained an animal to choose the 
brighter of two grays. After the training had been 
brought to a successful issue, “critical tests” were made 
in which two gray papers were again presented to the 
animal, so chosen, however, that the previously employed 
brighter and positive stimulus was retained, while the 
darker and negative one was replaced with a paper still 
brighter than the positive stimulus of the training-series. 
There had been no training with the new paper; it was 
therefore neither positive nor negative. In Figure 5, 
from which one can comprehend the entire scope of the 
experiment, it is indicated as “gray o.” What will the 
animal do? The new gray is neither positive nor 


aoe FLD, 
\ 74 N 
7’ Critical att oe Trainings. 
' 7 Test eed Series N 
White Gray 0 Gray + Gray - Black 
[After Kohler. 
FIG. 5. 


negative, but neutral, while beside it lies a gray strongly 
positive as a result of many repeated experiments. If 
the theory of specific response to specific stimuli is 
correct, we should expect the positive stimulus to be 
selected in a majority of cases; there certainly would 
be no reason to suppose that the neutral gray would be 
more frequently chosen. 

The experiment can be varied by making the darker 
gray the positive colour of the training-series, and then 
using a still darker colour instead of a brighter one in 
the critical tests. Or again, one can retain the negative 
rather than the positive stimulus in the critical tests, 
and associate with it a gray which is still farther re- 
moved from the positive colour than it is from the 
negative, though in the same direction. In the interest 
of brevity, we shall confine ourselves to the first case. 

Kohler carried out a long series of careful experiments 


138 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


of all kinds with hens, with chimpanzees, and with a 
child nearly three years old. In order to give the 
reader an idea how these experiments were performed, 
I will briefly describe the tests with hens, A hen was 
placed in a cage, one of the sides of which was so wired 
that the fowl could easily thrust her head and neck 
outside. Before this side of the cage a horizontal board 
was placed from which the hen could eat. Upon this 
board, adjacent to one another, the two papers were 
laid which were to be employed in training, and upon 
each paper an equal number of kernels of grain were 
placed. If the hen pecked at the grains upon the 
positive paper, she was allowed to eat them all, but 
whenever she pecked at those on the negative paper, 
she was shooed away, and thus prevented from eating”, 
This procedure was continued on different days until] 
the hen no longer attempted to peck at the negative 
paper. The position of the papers was frequently 
altered so that the positive stimulus lay now at the 
right, now at the left, in order that the fowl should not 
learn always to peck in the same positional direction. 
To complete the necessary training, four hundred to 
six hundred trials, and more, were requisite. When this 
training had been achieved, Kohler proceeded with the 
critical tests in which the fowl was allowed to eat with- 
out hindrance all the grains from whichever paper she 
might chose. The experiment was then at an end and 
could be repeated. 

The results of these experiments on hens contradicted 
altogether the expectations based upon the sensation- 
theory. Among four hens, two of which had been 
trained to select the brighter, and two the darker gray, 
the newly introduced neutral paper was selected fifty- 
nine times out of eighty-five critical tests, whereas the 
original positive paper was selected only twenty-six 
times. On the basis of the sensation-theory, the op- 
posite was to be expected; at least, the positive colour 
should have been chosen no less often than the neutral, 


139 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


The presuppositions of this theory must therefore be 
false. 

How then can we explain the outcome of these ex- 
periments? Whatcan have remained over in the critical 
tests from the situation of the training-series except the 
objective presence of the positive stimulus? “In this 
special arrangement where two different colours are 
placed side by side in an otherwise symmetrical figure 
of a very simple form, introspection shows that what is 
characteristic of the experience is not the mere presence 
of one colour lying by itself, and another colour lying 
by itself, but the ‘togetherness’ of the two colours” }%, 
Obviously this dark-bright pattern, this colour-tigure, is 
retained when one passes from the setting of the training- 
series to that of the critical tests. It can therefore be 
inferred that, in the majority of cases, choice was deter- 
mined by this pattern, rather than by the retention of 
the absolute positive quality of the training-series. If 
the behaviour of the fowls depends primarily upon the 
characteristics of a configuration, rather than upon the 
absolute constitution of the colours employed, the con- 
clusion is justified that the phenomena involved in these 
experiments are configural. Furthermore, the fact that 
these experiments were carried out with hens, proves that 
such configurations are possible, not only in a developed 
state of intelligence, but that they must be regarded as 
a very primitive type of mental achievement. 

In the experiments Kohler performed with a child, 
two boxes were placed before the child, one with a 
brighter and the other with a darker cover. The child 
was told to take one, and without further aid he soon 
learned to choose always the brighter box which con- 
tained candy, and to reject the other box which was 
empty. After two days (forty-five trials), when the 
child was able to make his choice virtually without 
error, the critical test was given; the result of which 
was the same as with the hens, though far more decisive. 
With reference to comparative brightness, and the 

140 


INFANT’S PHENOMENAL EXPERIENCE 


rejection of the “absolute” colour, the child invariably 
and without hesitation chose the new and the brighter 
box. 

We have noted that “absolute” choice sometimes 
occurred with the hens. In a special series of tests, 
Kohler modified the conditions in order to find out which 
were favourable to the operation of the “absolute” and 
of the configural factor. His results indicate that the 
operation of the “absolute” factor ceases to be effective 
with time, and is quickly forgotten. ‘The truly essen- 
tial, lasting, and definite product of learning,” he tells us, 
“is dependent upon the function of a configuration ” 7, 
This statement holds true in a measure for all the more 
primitive forms of life; but not for human beings. An 
adult’s choice would not have been unhesitatingly in 
accordance with the configuration, as was the child’s. 
There would have been a question in the adult’s mind 
whether to behave with reference to the configuration, 
or with reference to the absolute grayness already 
known to him. Only when we adults are called upon 
to judge of colours that are qualitatively very like one 
another—that is, when a small enough interval has 
been chosen between the negative, positive, and neutral 
colours—do we likewise fall under the compulsion of a 
configurative choice. The difference between the 
behaviour of adult and child shows clearly that the 
“absolute” factor is not more primitive, but instead 
is a product of higher development; and hence it can 
not be identical with the “simple sensations” which, 
according to the older point of view, lie at the founda- 
tion of all training. 

As a consequence of this observed difference, we 
may conclude that simple configurations are primitive 
modes of behaviour which in no wise presuppose the 
existence of absolute sensations. Our presumption 
that the very first phenomena of the infant mind are 
qualities of this figural sort is likewise supported by 


these results. 
I4I 


THE NEW-BORN INFANT 


Again it should be emphasized that the configura- 
tion under discussion, which we have assumed to be the 
first phenomenon of mind, must be thought of as very 
simple indeed; merely as a quality emerging from a 
uniform ground. We must, therefore, not think of 
these phenomena as being at all like the experiences 
we adults have. At the beginning, only the slightest 
degree of complexity and definiteness can be ascribed 
to them; but in the following pages we shall become 
acquainted with configurations as they appear at a 
higher level, which will enable us to study their 
development. 


142 


CHAPTER IV 
SPECIAL FEATURES OF MENTAL GROWTH 


A. GENERAL STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM. 
How NEW TYPES OF BEHAVIOUR ARE LEARNED 


§ 1—Four Ways in which the Mind Grows 


WE now know how the new-born infant begins his 
journey through life, and how he is equipped to under- 
take the immense task of becoming an adult and 
entering the circle of human society as an independent 
member. Let us therefore accompany him on his way, 
in order that we may observe his growth and develop- 
ment, and at the same time learn something of the 
laws in accordance with which growth and development 
take place. The principles here involved will again 
occupy the foreground of our attention; because for 
our purpose the problem of development itself is of 
greater importance than the detailed facts of behaviour, 
Accordingly, our attempt will be to point out the nature 
of man’s achievement in the course of his development. 

With this end in view, the first questions to be 
asked are: What the infant has to acquire, and in 
what directions his behaviour must develop. To 
these questions we can answer that it is possible to 
differentiate roughly four different directions of mental 
development. 

1. The first is concerned with purely motor pheno- 
mena. Movements and postures which appear at the 
beginning of life must be carried out with greater 
completeness; new movements must be built up and 


143 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


brought to a higher degree of perfection. Beginning 
with the activities of grasping and locomotion, one 
attains in due course the ability to speak, to. write, 
and to perform musically, gymnastically, in sport, in 
play, etc. 

2. The second direction of mental growth is in the 
field of sensory experience. Here the magnitude of 
the task is even more obvious. We have already 
tried to show how simple must be the first perceptual 
phenomena of the human being; although this sim- 
plicity is, to be sure, of quite a different sort from that 
of the so-called “simple” sensations. Out of these 
rudimentary phenomena of dawning intelligence, our 
richly furnished, multi-coloured, and finely organized 
outlook upon the world must be developed. We have 
seen that amid a multiplicity of things supplied by the 
environment which might be operative upon the child, 
only a very few are at any time effective. In the 
course of his development, however, this multiplicity 
must be mastered. The requirements which the adult’s 
life brings to bear upon his behaviour are so numerous 
that they can in no wise be satisfied by the primitive 
phenomenal configurations of infancy. Gradually, 
therefore, the phenomena of the child’s mind must be 
adapted to the innumerable stimuli which arouse them. 
The nature of this task can be made clear by an 
example. Consider the processes involved in decipher- 
ing a puzzle-picture, where, out of a confusion of quite 
irrelevant lines, the figure of a cat suddenly springs 
forth. Think now of a puzzle-picture, constructed not 
merely to show a cat or some other figure, but consist- 
ing in a chaos of lines and surfaces, which, however, 
either suddenly, or by successive stages, make possible 
the recognition of a landscape or a group of human 
beings. This example is related to the subject under 
discussion at the close of the last chapter (p. 128), 
where we were concerned with pointing out differences 
in the phenomenal world as they appear to different 


144 


FOUR WAYS OF GROWTH 


human beings who nevertheless observe the same 
actual world. The example is therefore chosen in 
order to indicate the problem which confronts man in 
the development of his sensory capacities. Briefly 
stated, the primitive, disjointed phenomenal patterns of 
infancy must be replaced by an integrated, membered, 
and effectively composed outlook upon the world. 

3. But external and internal behaviour are not two 
opposed and isolated systems; for in truth the problem 
of behaviour is to carry out appropriate actions which 
involve the motorium in situations that are mediated to 
the individual through his sensorium. Along with 
purely motor and purely sensory acquisitions, we must, 
therefore, place those which are at once sensory and 
motor; meaning, thereby, the co-ordination of explicit 
with implicit forms of behaviour, and those adjustments 
of movements to phenomena without which an individual 
could never lead an independent life. To give a very 
elementary example of this, we may recall the saying 
that a burnt child fears the fire. Here the co-ordination 
of an avoidance-reaction with the phenomenon of fire is 
an acquisition that takes place after the original act of 
grasping has led to the painful experience of being 
burned. In this same connection we may recall the 
modification of instinct observed in the case of Preyer’s 
boy, who preferred a bottle of sweet milk to the breast. 

Having emphasized the close connection between the 
sensorium and the motorium, we must now point out 
that in reality all purely motor acquisitions, classified 
under the first heading, contain a sensory component. 
In such activities as those of speaking and writing, this 
component is quite obvious. Deaf persons learn to 
speak imperfectly at best. The same thing is true, how- 
ever, in forms of behaviour which require special motor 
practice, as, for instance, playing tennis; for here, too, 
it is not merely a matter of repeating the same stroke, 
but of administering the right kind of a stroke when- 
ever and wherever the ball is met. 


145 K 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Even in many quite early activities a sensory com- 
ponent enters, as can be understood by reference to 
walking, which is in no wise a stereotyped movement. 
Not only does the tempo of walking greatly vary accord- 
ing to the occasion for locomotion, but, in addition, 
walking-movements are directed in accordance with the 
characteristics of the ground, being adapted to its irregu- 
larities without our cognizance of this fact. The process 
is more or less automatic ; that is to say, the brain-centres 
which regulate walking must receive reports from the 
outer world regarding the nature of the ground passed 
over, and these sensory impulses regulate the movements 
made, though they need not lead to consciousness. To 
employ a striking example, consider how differently one 
walks when one has a sore foot, and how impossible it is 
under these circumstances to place one’s feet normally 
even with the best of will. The nature of the connection 
between sensorium and motorium becomes still more 
evident when we consider another type of movement 
described in detail in the preceding chapter. If we 
chance to be gazing into the distance when suddenly 
there appears a striking object near at hand, this object 
will be fixated, and the eyes will accommodate to it. 
The reaction, especially the accommodation, is quite 
involuntary, and the sensory impulse thus released 
occasions a phenomenon in consciousness only after the 
movement has taken place, and the eyes have been 
directed upon the new object. The point of view from 
which we have found it desirable to consider this con- 
nection between sensory and motor behaviour, is that 
of regarding the whole procedure as an interconnected 
system in which the motor and the sensory processes 
are not independent of one another, as they would be 
if they were connected by external bonds. We shall 
retain this conception here; for even acquisitions of a 
purely “motor” type presuppose an integrated, sensori- 
motor process. Every movement occasions a new sensory 
impulse in the brain-centres which in turn contributes 


146 


FOUR WAYS OF GROWTH 


to the motor process. A proof of the important con- 
tribution made by sensory impulses to motor processes 
is furnished in the disturbances of walking that occur 
with locomotor ataxia (Zades Dorsalts). In this disease 
it is not the motor but the sensory centres that are 
attacked, and yet a complete paralysis results. The 
patient, however, may learn again to walk if he can 
learn to make use of other sensory impulses than those 
of the tactual field which he has lost. For instance, 
optical impulses may be employed, but the patient 
must then learn to regulate his walking by his eyes; 
that is, he must constantly watch his feet. Since in 
this manner a very considerable improvement in his 
performance is possible, it appears that the disturbance 
does not involve the motor centres; but it is also evident 
that some sensory impulse is necessary for each move- 
ment. The same conclusion has been reached from the 
physiological investigation of animals in which certain 
sensory centres have been destroyed. 

The converse of this proposition is also true; for a 
“purely sensory” knowledge of the world as described 
under our second heading also occurs in co-operation 
with movement. Think, for instance, of grasping and 
touching, and also of “the line of regard” in vision, and 
of the movements of the head involved in spatial orienta- 
tion. To understand in detail how the motor aspects 
support the sensory is, of course, a problem for investiga- 
tion; but at least we have passed the stage where we 
must resort to the hypothesis of “ eye-movements ” when- 
ever other current theories fail us, 

We have tried to show that, strictly speaking, there 
are no “ purely motor” or “ purely sensory ” acquisitions, 
and yet it is quite justifiable to distinguish the sensori- 
motor group from the other two. The object of the 
sensory and motor groups, taken separately, is to deter- 
mine the acquisition, either of an external motor or of an 
internal sensory mode of behaviour; whereas the problem 
of the sensori-motor group includes the correlation of 


147 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


thesetwo. This third type of development has therefore 
to do with uniting phenomena and movements, either of 
which can exist apart from the other, in one total form 
of behaviour; for instance, a hen can run, and it can see 
black and yellow striped caterpillars, but it acquires 
the tendency to run away when it sees these caterpillars. 

4. From the third type of development we pass 
directly to the fourth. When we are suddenly confronted 
with the problem of adjusting ourselves to a new situa- 
tion we do not as a rule respond at once with an appro- 
priate form of behaviour, but, instead, the reaction is 
checked while we consider the matter; that is to say, 
between the stimulating situation and the behaviour of 
reaction there occur certain phenomena which do not 
need to correspond directly with anything actually or 
objectively present. The following is a crude example 
of this. A child, finding itself alone, sees before him a 
tempting dish of sweets; then it occurs to the child that 
he has been forbidden to take sweets without permission ; 
accordingly he hesitates as to what he shall do. Should 
he leave the dish untouched, his behaviour with respect 
to the stimulating situation would be determined by the 
phenomena which have intervened. In the course of 
development interventions of this sort play a constantly 
increasing part. Whereas originally the reaction follows 
directly upon the stimulus, intervening members become 
more and more numerous, and more and more important, 
as development progresses. Our most significant ac- 
complishments rest upon their employment, and their 
acquisition is therefore an essential task of development. 
By means of these intervening members, we are able to 
disengage ourselves more and more from our immediate 
surroundings, and it is in this way that we are able to 
control nature to the degree that we do. Education 
finds one of its chief tasks in promoting this kind of 
development ; for the best of what we learn at school is 
not the sum of positive knowledge acquired, but that we 
learn how to think, so that we can assume an independ- 


148 


FOUR WAYS OF GROWTH 


ence which rests upon our ability to supplement the 
situations that confront us with appropriate intervening 
phenomena. 

As to the importance of these phenomena, the follow- 
ing is worthy of consideration. We have seen that the 
simplest form of behaviour is a reaction to a situation, 
the most primitive type being reflexive. With refer- 
ence to the conception of the reflex-arc—which we have 
modified to a certain extent—a type of development 
can be described in which the way from the stimulus to 
the reaction is being constantly prolonged so that more 
and more parts of the organism are being set in activity. 
This conception furnishes us with the physiological 
correlate for the intervening phenomenal members. 
However, as these new parts begin to function, the 
function may itself develop in a relatively independent 
manner, without it being always apparent that these 
intervening parts are indeed the members of a sequence 
established between stimulus and reaction. Now con- 
sider the matter from the psychological side. What we 
call mental work is for the most part work done with 
these intervening members. Art and science are thus 
carried on for their own sake; and yet finally they 
always lead back to some kind of external response, 
thereby demonstrating their origin. 

We have previously selected our examples from what 
one pleases to call the intellectual domain, but ethical 
conduct belongs in the same category, and behaviour 
must also develop ethically, so that it need not depend 
upon environmental conditions alone. 

We shall call this general field of behaviour zdeatzonal 
behaviour. Here again the definition is not actually so 
sharp as the classification suggests ; for the ideational 
field depends most intimately upon the sensory, and 
any means that enable us to become independent of im- 
mediate perception find roots in perception, and, in 
truth, only lead us from one perception to another. 
This fact will become clearer when we come to discuss 


149 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


in the next chapter certain categories which begin in 
the sensory field and lead out into the ideational field. 

In our exposition we have been saying that a child must 
acquire this or that form of behaviour. We have selected 
this vague term “acquire” expressly because, as was 
pointed out in the second chapter, development may 
follow either of two paths—namely, maturation or learn- 
ing. With reference to acquisition we must keep both 
of these in mind; for although learning is incomparably 
the more effective process of the two, and the one 
which therefore chiefly engages our interest, it would 
be a mistake to regard every acquired performance as 
necessarily one that has been learned. 


§ 2—Maturation and Learning. The Problem of 
Memory and the Problem of Achievement in 
Learning 


Maturation is noticeable in the first weeks of life, 
mainly through the growth of the “new” brain as it 
gradually becomes more effective in its functioning. 
Among other signs, this growth is indicated by a re- 
flexive irritability which, though very slight at the 
beginning, increases until it attains its maximum within 
a few weeks, after which time it begins to decrease. 
The reason for this change is that as soon as the brain, 
and the connections between the brain and the spinal 
cord, have attained a certain stage of development, the 
cerebrum begins to exercise an inhibitive effect upon 
the reflexes. The transformation of the Babinski-reflex 
into the plantar reflex, for instance (cf. p. 83 f.), depends 
upon the maturation of these parts. When disease 
destroys the connections in the pyramidal tract between 
the brain and the spinal cord, the Babinski-reflex re- 
appears in place of the plantar reflex. Similarly, the 
reflexive control of excretion depends upon a certain 
maturation of the cerebrum. In the brainless child 


previously described this control was never effected. 
I50 


MATURATION AND LEARNING 


Behaviour of this type, however, can not be regarded 
altogether as a product of maturation, for learning is 
also involved. 

Learning, however, brings before us an entirely new 
set of problems to which we must now give our attention. 
All learning depends upon memory—upon the fact that 
the past is not dead to us, but is preserved more or less in 
some form or other within our psycho-physical organism. 
Whenever we have adjusted ourselves to a new situation, 
or have once solved a new problem, we find that our 
behaviour is easier the next time we meet the. same or 
a similar situation, or whenever we are called upon to 
solve the same or a similar problem. This aspect of 
learning has been especially favoured by investigation, 
and numerous experiments have been carried out by 
different methods with the object of determining the 
laws of memory. The problem of memory is, however, 
not the only problem of learning; for still another 
problem has at least an equal importance. We have 
just stated that memory makes it possible for the 
organism to preserve the effect even of a single per- 
formance. Consider, now, this single performance a 
little more closely. If it be of an inherited type, such 
as an instinctive action, it need be no easier, nor succeed 
any better, the second time than it did the first ; because 
instinctive activities are already fairly complete at the 
start, and even if a certain improvement is noted, this 
need not necessarily be referred to memory, for it may 
be entirely attributable to growth. We shall see in the 
course of this chapter that, as a matter of fact, the 
maturation of a performance is promoted by its exercise. 

The superiority of a second performance over the 
first is evident, however, when the activities in question 
do not belong to innate endowment, but are of a kind 
that involves more or less serious difficulties of acquisi- 
tion. We may cite examples from each of the four 
types of development that we have distinguished. 1. 


Swimming is learned with considerable difficulty ; once 
I51I 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


learned, however, we need never afterwards be’ quite 
helpless in the water. 2. Having once solved a puzzle- 
picture, the solution is very much easier the next time 
we see it; this facility applies also to other pictures 
similar to the first. 3. Having once succeeded in 
crossing a stream on a log, one is not likely to hesitate 
as to what to do the next time he finds himself in a 
similar predicament. The example of the burned child, 
which we have also referred to this type of behaviour, 
seems to be of a different sort, but we shall defer con- 
sideration of it until later. 4. After I am once able to 
understand a proof in some particular field of mathe- 
matics, I find myself much better prepared with respect 
to other problems in the same field. 

These are all significant instances of learning, and in 
all of them the first performance contains the determin- 
ing factor. The problem of learning, therefore, is not 
merely one of finding out how later performances 
depend upon earlier ones—which is essentially the 
problem of memory—but also involves the question: 
How does the first performance come about? Hereafter 
we shall refer to this as the problem of achievement. 

The distinction here made is a fundamental one, © 
although it has not usually been accorded the important 
position in psychology which it deserves. Often, indeed, 
the problem of learning has been identified with the 
problem of memory, while the problem of achievement, 
as a matter for separate consideration, has been more 
or less overlooked. Thus the criterion of an instinctive 
performance has frequently been found in the fact that 
it takes place without previous experience. Accordingly, 
whatever a living being does the first time it is placed 
in a certain situation is supposed to depend solely upon 
its inherited disposition 1. This view we shall oppose 
by another which assumes all learning to be a non- 
heritable achievement. What this means, we must 
now endeavour to find out. 


152 


PRINCIPLE OF TRIAL AND ERROR 


§ 3—The Principle of Trial and Error. Thornatke's 
Investigations and the Mechanistic Theory of 
Learning 


We come now to one of the most significant problems 
of comparative psychology, the solution of which is 
supposed by some to have been reduced to a very 
simple formula, namely, the Principle of Trial and 
Error. This principle, however, instead of untying the 
knots of the problem, simply slips by them ; for accord- 
ing to its hypothesis there is no such thing as a “non- 
heritable” type of behaviour, nor are there any first 
performances in the sense of being new performances. 
It is important to bear this in mind when one is trying 
to understand the Principle of Trial and Error. 

We shall begin by considering the concrete facts 
which have led to the formation of this principle. 
These facts may be found in typical experiments with 
animals, such as Thorndike was the first to undertake, 
and which have since been carried out very extensively 
in America’, A general idea of these experiments 
may be had from the following statement: Animals 
which have not been fed for a long time are confined 
in closed cages before which food is visible, or otherwise 
sensed. Observations are then made upon the behaviour 
of an animal in this situation, and especially how it 
finally succeeds in getting out of the cage to the food 1, 
The cage is provided with a door or some arrangement 
which opens as soon as the animal has carried out a 
certain act, the animal being required to pull down a 
string, or turn a lock, or press upon a board, or by 
means of some other mechanical device, raise a latch 
so that the door can be pushed open or release secured 
in some other manner. 

Fig. 6, taken from Thorndike’s book, shows in a 
schematic way how such a cage is constructed. Among 
the many different locks pictured, a particular experi- 
ment may employ but one, or a combination of several, 


153 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


leading in a definite serial order to the release. Thus, 
for instance, it may be impossible to loosen lock C until 
B has first been unlocked, and lock B only after lock A. 

Thorndike, whose experiments we shall now trace a 
little more closely, confined cats and dogs in such cages, 
always using each animal alone. He then observed what 
the animal did under these conditions, and measured 
the time from the beginning of the experiment up to 
the moment when the animal succeeded in getting out 
of the cage. Sooner or later, after the animal had eaten, 
it was again placed in the cage, and the experiment was 





[After Thorndike. 


Fic. 6. 


begun anew. The repetitions extended sometimes over 
several days before the animal could at once release itself 
from the cage. Having measured the time of confine- 
ment in each separate test, a time-curve could then be 
constructed in which the several repetitions are indicated 
on the abscisse, and the time required in each repeti- 
tion on the ordinates (cf. Figs. 7 and 8, pp. 163, 165). 

It may, of course, happen that the animal will never 
succeed in escaping from the cage, but as soon as it is 
confined the animal begins to show signs of distress and 
to strive for relief. Thorndike’s description of this 
behaviour has already been given on p. 96. The pro- 
cedure continues until the animal, in the course of its 
aimless pursuit, at length chances to make the move- 
ment which gives it freedom. Thus an animal striking 


154 


PRINCIPLE OF TRIAL AND ERROR 


about at random may sooner or later fasten its claws 
upon the string, or upon the bolt, which affords a means 
of exit. The animal thus gains its freedom the first 
time by a movement in nowise new, being one that 
already belongs to its inherited repertory of reactions 
(cf. p. 96). 

If the experiment is repeated again and again, the 
behaviour of the animal changes, in that the unsuccessful 
movements are gradually reduced in number, while the 
successful movement becomes constantly more perfect 
and more exact; both results having the same influence 
upon the time-curve, which shows that the animal gets 
out of the cage quicker and quicker. 

These are the facts. How are they to be understood ? 
American animal-psychology prides itself with having 
worked out a very simple hypothesis. This hypothesis 
has passed through different stages, some of which we 
shall here reproduce, but its nucleus was given at the 
start as a result of the following considerations. Since 
insight and intention play no part in determining the 
movements by means of which the animal frees itself 
the first time from the cage, these can be no more 
effective after the animal has learned to master the 
situation, and hence the modification of behaviour by 
the elimination of the useless and the perfection of the 
useful movements may be said to go forward we¢thout 
any participation on the part of the animal. The animal 
has not the slightest notion why its behaviour is being 
modified; the whole process, in which the successful 
acts are preserved and the unsuccessful acts gradually 
eliminated, is purely mechanical. 

This is the Principle of Trial and Error, or Success 
and Failure. But the question remains: How does it 
happen that the successful movements rather than the 
unsuccessful ones are retained? The first answer given 
to this question was that a definite connection, or 
association, is gradually built up between the situation 
and the useful movements, in consequence of which 


155 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


the perception of the situation is immediately trans- 
lated into appropriate activities. An association is 
established between the situation and the appropriate, 
but not with inappropriate, movements, because the 
former are attended by pleasure whereas the latter are 
attended by displeasure. This, approximately, was the 
theory of Lloyd Morgan. But the further questions how 
pleasure and displeasure can be effective in establishing 
or hindering associations could be answered by Morgan 
only in these words: “I conceive,” he says, “that there 
is but one honest answer to these questions. We do 
not know ” 381, 

For a long time the theory remained in this form, 
and quite recently Buhler, in his attempt to explain the 
principle of training, or drill—which we shall consider 
later—appears to accept this view when he remarks 
that the pleasure of success and the displeasure of 
failure suffice to establish “an unequivocally clear and 
definite association between certain sensory impressions 
and the movement-complex of the successful mode of 
behaviour.” This connection is assumed to be purely 
associative, that is, the sensory impression determines 
the movement without the animal’s being conscious of 
an “I should”, or an “I will” 8. Morgan’s theory has 
therefore been modified to this extent, that the associa- 
tion is now supposed to be established directly between 
the perception and the movement without the mediation 
of any other conscious data. At first Thorndike accepted 
this view and then proceeded to verify it by experimenta- 
tion. According to his first hypothesis, the association 
was supposed to take place only in the connection 
between the sensory impressions and the movement- 
impulse of the animal under investigation.** Let us 
see what is involved in the employment of this word, 
association. By association we understand a connection 
between processes not inherited but acquired in the 
course of life. The term has this meaning for Morgan, 
and also for Bihler, who writes that “there is an ‘ over- 


156 


PRINCIPLE OF TRIAL AND ERROR 


production of movements’ and an ‘aimless trying-out’ 
involved in training. Consequently the range of possi- 
bilities is sufficient for the attainment of an end by 
chance. This range of chance is restricted, however, 
and finally set aside altogether by the building up of 
an unequivocal association.” **° If one understands by 
“over-production” the appearance of movements not 
connected by any inherited pathways with the situation 
at hand, it follows that new bonds of connection must 
actually be established. 

Thorndike, however, sees the matter differently. 
“Over-production” to him is only the successive func- 
tioning of inherited modes of behaviour. As already 
remarked, the animal, according to Thorndike, does 
nothing at all to secure its freedom which is not already 
a part of its instinctive tendencies, and wholly dependent 
upon the predetermined inherited connections of its 
neurones. The connections established in learning are, 
therefore, in no wise new; the total effect consisting 
only in this, that among the numerous predetermined 
bonds existing between any situation and the many pos- 
sible reactions to it,a few are retained and strengthened 
while the rest are eliminated. Although Thorndike 
does employ the term association, this function does 
not signify for him the establishment of any new con- 
nection in a physiological sense, but at most a facilitation 
in the functioning of nervous tracts already defined. 

The same view is advanced in its most extreme form 
by Watson, who is very emphatic in his statements that 
there is no such thing as building up a new course of 
action, and that to speak of association is therefore 
quite superfluous, We need not concern ourselves at 
all, he thinks, with the establishment of new connections, 
but only with a selection from among those already 
present, and this selection results from the mere fact 
that useless movements are gradually eliminated, where- 
upon the useful ones fall into their proper serial 
order.’*” 


157 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Learning could not be reduced more completely to 
mechanical terms. Even the questions how the selection 
among different ways of response is to become effective, 
and what factor gradually determines the elimination of 
the useless movements, have been answered by Watson 
in the simplest, but also in the crudest, and, as regards 
a natural feeling for living creatures, in the most un- 
sympathetic manner.**° The movements retained he 
regards as being merely those most frequently carried 
out ; these being at the same time the successful move- 
ments for the simple reason that they are ones which 
must occur in every trial that does not end in failure. 
No such compulsion attaches to the unsuccessful acts, 
because the experiment ends as soon as the right act 
has been performed. If one assumes that all possible 
acts are equally probable at the start, and that one 
order of acts is as probable as any other, it follows that 
the right act has double the probability of any act that 
is wrong. 

A simple example will clarify this relation. Suppose 
only two movements, A and B, are possible and equally 
probable, and that B leads to the result, while A does 
not. Then the series of trials may be something like this: 


bac 
sees 
eet Jes 
ae 


ON AMR WN 


B 
B 
AB 
B 


Whenever A comes first B must follow, but when B is 
the first member there can be no second, because B 
closes the experiment. We see that B occurs in the 
eight trials eight times, while A occurs but four times, 
although as the first member one is just as frequent as 


the other. 
158 


PRINCIPLE OF TRIAL AND ERROR 


This Law of Frequency is for Watson and other 
American authors’ the chief law of learning. Watson 
suppiements it with the less important Law of Recency, 
according to which the act last performed has a certain 
advantage over the others which enhances the probability 
of the appearance of the successful act; being always 
the last act in every trial, it is at the beginning of each 
succeeding trial the one most recently performed. But 
the original principle of explanation, whereby the effec- 
tiveness of success and failure was referred to pleasure 
and displeasure, has altogether disappeared from the 
theory, and is no longer regarded as having anything 
to do with learning and habituation.!° 

This extreme point of view has not proved accept- 
able to the majority of investigators. Although all 
recognize the Law of Frequency, or, as Thorndike 
calls it, the Law of Exercise’*!, it is not generally 
thought that this law alone is adequate to give a full 
explanation of the facts. Explanation in terms of the 
result itself, which Watson discards, is therefore retained 
by other investigators as a necessary addendum. Thus 
Bihler finds pleasure and displeasure the effective means 
by which infants and animals select their responses. 
“Success brings pleasure and pleasure determines the 
frequent repetition of any movement that was once 
successful, while frequent repetition gives it a fixed 
and enduring character. Failure, on the other hand, 
brings displeasure which does not prompt repetition. 
Thus ‘unsuccessful movements are not retained, but 
eliminated.” 42 The process of “stamping in” is there- 
fore explained by frequency, but the frequency of the 
act is again referred back to pleasure. This seems 
very simple at first, but difficulties arise as soon as 
one considers a concrete case, as, for instance, that of 
the animal-experiments just described. The connection 
between movement and pleasure, for example, is not 
nearly so close as the hypothesis would have it be. A 
cat, while engaged in biting the bars of its cage, may 


159 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


gain its release by a chance-movement of its head which 
throws the lock. The subsequent pleasure in being 
free is supposed to be effective in determining a 
repetition of the same movement, but in order that 
this movement may again lead to success it must be 
repeated in exactly the same manner and in the same 
place ; otherwise the cat’s head will not come in contact 
with the lock in such a way as to open the cage. But 
what causes the animal to assume this same position 
again? In point of fact, as Hobhouse in particular has 
observed, the animal does mot repeat the same move- 
ment, but as a rule only the same general kind of 
behaviour. Thus a cat which has once freed itself by 
pulling a string with its foot, may upon another occasion 
pull the same string with its teeth’. The argument 
can be carried still further; for if we accept Bihler’s 
hypothesis and its consequences the movement, strictly 
speaking, must be exactly repeated just as it was made 
the first time success was achieved. But, of course, it is 
absurd to suppose that repetition will occur with any 
such exact or, as one might say, photographic fidelity 
to the original movement. An attempt to prove such 
a thesis must certainly fail. Indeed, so many elements 
of movement are present in the restless behaviour of 
the animal that the same succession of acts is quite 
impossible until the animal has learned its task, and 
the habit has been completely formed. In the case of 
the cat which secured its release by a movement of the 
head, the animal would certainly be found in a some- 
what different position the second time the trial was 
made, and this would necessitate a somewhat different 
movement in order to slip the lock. The art of learning 
simply can not be explained by the mere repetition of 
a movement which leads to pleasure. 

The theory of trial and error meets still another 
difficulty which its opponents have pointed out. The 
pleasure often follows much later than the movement, 


since a whole series of movements, some right and some 
160 


PRINCIPLE OF TRIAL AND ERROR 


wrong, may have to be made before the end is attained. 
For instance, when the cage from which the animal 
must release itself has more than one lock, the opening 
of the first lock can bring no pleasure, and before the 
other hindrances are set aside the animal may make 
many false responses. Yet even under these conditions 
the animal will learn to carry out the first act of such a 
series. 

We have not as yet criticized the Law of Frequency, 
but it is not difficult to demonstrate that it is in- 
adequate, and likewise that its derivation from the law 
of probability is unfounded. Thorndike refutes the 
law very simply ™“* by pointing out that the entire 
deduction is based upon a false presupposition ; namely, 
that the animal will perform each separate act once 
only, and must then proceed to a new and different 
act, which does not at all agree with the facts. Very 
often an animal will repeat an unsuccessful act many 
times before a change takes place in its behaviour. In 
these cases repetition would have quite a different result. 
Consider the previous illustration where there were but 
two possibilities of reaction, A, unsuccessful, and B, 
successful. B can be repeated but once in a trial 
because the first B solves the problem, whereas A can 
be repeated many times. With the same scheme used 
on p. 158, and allowing A to be repeated three times 
before the act is abandoned, we gain the following picture 
of the animal’s behaviour in successive trials: 


1AAAB 5. B 
2, B 6. B 
3 AAAB 7 AAAB 
4,.AAAB 8. B 


From this record it appears that A has occurred twelve 
times, while B has only occurred eight times. By the 
law of frequency A rather than B should be selected, 
which shows clearly the inadequacy of this law as an 
explanation of learning. 

161 L 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Thorndike attempts to overcome this difficulty by 
adding to the Law of Exercise, a Law of Effect™. If 
a reaction leads to a “satisfactory state of affairs,” the 
connection involved in the reaction is strengthened, 
whereas if it leads to an “unsatisfactory state of 
affairs” the connection is weakened. This addition 
is nothing more than the old principle of the effects of 
pleasure and displeasure now reduced to an original 
innate tendency; but why the principle should be 
effective, we can understand no better than we did 
before. Thorndike, however, tries to set this question 
aside altogether, by basing the law of effect upon the 
individual’s inherited tendencies. 

The same objection already raised against Bihler’s 
formula can, however, be applied to Thorndike’s principle 
as soon as we take it up in detail, and trace its con- 
sequences as they are applied by Thorndike in explana- 
tion of the learning of animals. But before we follow 
this criticism further, I wish to point out that, to me 
at least, it seems as though Thorndike himself were 
not altogether satisfied with the dominating mechanistic 
tendency of his principles, and that he would like to 
overcome this implication by means of the Law of 
Effect. At any rate, he also considers the ethical 
aspects of development, and he clearly refers the 
possibility of ethical progress to this Law of Effect 
when he writes that “man is thus eternally altering 
himself to suit himself. His nature is not right in his 
own eyes. Only one thing in it, indeed, is unreservedly 
good, the power to make it better. This power, the 
power of learning, or modification in favour of the 
satisfying, the capacity represented by the law of 
effect, is the essential principle of reason and right in 
the world” 4°. Since we shall be obliged in what 
follows to criticize Thorndike’s principles adversely, it 
seems only fair to note this tendency which he has 
seen fit to incorporate into his otherwise mechanistic 
hypothesis. 

162 





THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


§ 4—Thorndtke’s Hypothesis criticized by showing that 
the Behaviour of his Animals was not altogether stupid 


Let us now return to Thorndike’s theory of learning, 
according to which acts “teach themselves,” so to say, 
in as much as the animals never participate in what they 
are doing, and never know that a critical action will 
bring them freedom and food. Since this assumption 
of animal-stupidity is at the root of Thorndike’s whole 
theory, we must first of all test it out. In the main, 


4 


2 2 th 78 
[After Thorndike. 
Fic. 7. 
Thorndike derives the proof of his radical thesis from 
two groups of facts: the time-curves of the animal’s 
performances, and the errors they commit. 

The time-curves, which have already been described 
(p. 154), are so constructed that one millimetre on the 
ordinate is equivalent to ten seconds, the small marks 
upon the abscissa indicating interruptions in the experi- 
ment. Unless otherwise noted, these interruptions in- 
volved a whole day. When several days elapsed before 
a new trial was made the number of days was indicated 
near the mark, or if less than a day the number of hours 
was indicated by the addition of a letter Z. The curve 
here reproduced (Fig. 7) is typical of the performance 
of a cat which in order to secure its freedom had to turn 


163 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


a movable wooden bar-lock from a horizontal into a 
vertical position. (Locks of this kind are shown upon 
the door in the picture on p. 154.) 

Thorndike argues that if the animal possessed a trace 
of intelligence it could not happen, as was often observed, 
that, after having already freed itself several times, the 
animal was still unable to repeat the act in a later trial. 
Furthermore, if the animal ever actually grasped the 
situation, it ought thereafter to be able to proceed 
immediately without delay to a correct and definite 
solution of its task. This result would then be in- 
dicated by a sharp descent of the time-curve without any 
recurrent rise; but on the contrary, the time-curves 
always indicated a gradual descent with numerous re- 
current rises. So far as this argument is directed against 
the explanations offered by an “arm-chair” psychology, 
it is quite justified, for the animals in these experiments 
certainly showed no “consecutive thinking.” Yet, in 
declining to accept an anthropomorphic explanation, 
we are by no means required to assume that all animals 
exhibit a complete lack of insight. In the first place, 
many of the curves do actually show the sharp descent 
demanded by Thorndike as a criterion of insight. Two 
such curves which relate to the same problem as the 
first curve are here reproduced (Fig. 8). 

These curves show not only a sharp descent, but 
no recurrent rise even after a long interval of time; a 
result which also contradicts the law of exercise, since 
a long pause ought to weaken the bonds previously 
established (cf. p. 159, and note 1417). Why should 
we not proceed from cases like these, and lay our 
emphasis upon the suddenness rather than upon the 
gradualness of learning? The gradual type of learning, 
however, which Thorndike found in most of his experi- 
ments, impresses him so strongly that he dismisses 
sudden learning with the remark that “of course, where 
the act resulting from the impulse is very simple, very 
obvious, and very clearly defined, a single experience 


164 


Bagh IR, ge aaa ln a ge Sat 





THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


may make the association perfect, and we may have an 
abrupt descent in the time-curve without needing to 
suppose inference” 1#7, But the position he takes is 
open to objection, because the description of a solution 
as “simple,” “obvious,” and “clearly defined” can apply 
only to the experimenter and not to the animal. Accord- 
ing to Thorndike’s own presuppositions the animal does 
not participate at all, nor does it even understand the 


36 40 2 
[After Thorndike. 
Fic. 8, 


solution after it had been mastered; and hence there 
can be no point in saying that the solution is “obvious” 
to the animal. The time-curves we have reproduced 
will indicate how differently different animals behave in 
the same situation ; yet Thorndike is unable to refer to 
individual differences, because the individual has been 
excluded from his theory. Therefore, whatever is 
“simple” or “obvious” can only include that which is 
“objectively” simple or obvious, and not at all that 
which is simple or obvious to the animal. 

The fact that in these experiments a sudden fall in 
the time-curve ever should occur, and that it sometimes 


165 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


happens that an animal is able to master its task in a 
single trial, are matters that can not be simply brushed 
aside when they do not agree with the law of frequency, 
which requires a long and troublesome development 
even for the objectively easiest tasks. Since in the 
initial trial a single response must always be selected 
from among a large number of equally possible re- 
sponses, the law of effect is, therefore, the only one upon 
which an explanation can be based, and we have already 
seen that this law is itself in grave need of elucidation. 

As a matter of fact the ability of an animal to learn 
an act by performing it a single time is not at all unusual. 
Lloyd Morgan in his observation of fowls has reported 
instances like the following: He brought a chick seven 
days old to his study, and placed it in a pen made of a 
newspaper. The chick began to pick and scratch at 
one corner of the pen until it made an opening, and was 
able to come out into the room. When caught and re- 
placed in the original position, the chick ran to the 
same corner, and again pulled down the newspaper, and 
came out into the room a second time. The chick was 
then placed on the opposite side of its pen, but it soon 
returned to the first corner, and released itself a third 
time in the same way as before 8. 

In behaviour like this the inadequacy of Thorndike’s 
principles is keenly felt. It seems quite too nonsensical 
to suppose that the breaking down of a certain corner 
of the pen should have nothing to do with the chick’s 
release from the enclosure. Furthermore, the fact that 
on the third trial the chick ran back to its original 
corner can only be explained as a matter of chance by 
Thorndike ; since all that could have been learned in a 
blindly mechanical fashion was the movement of pulling 
down the paper, the procedure of the chick to a particular 
place in the pen not having been included in the original 
response. 

To repeat, then, the conclusion that animals are alto- 
gether blind in their eae is not sufficiently assured 

I 





THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


from the evidence of the time-curves. Nor is the argu- 
ment which Thorndike bases upon the errors committed 
by animals any more convincing. Animals which have 
completed a certain performance one or more times 
frequently fail in later trials, or act otherwise than they 
would if they really understood what they were about. 
“Stupid errors,” as Kohler calls them, have often been 
reported in animal-experiments. Cats have been 
observed to strike at strings or at levers when the door 
of the cage was already open. They will also some- 
times strike at a certain place after the device which 
once called for this action has been removed ***, But 
must we accept a purely mechanical hypothesis because 
it can be shown that some acts are not fully compre- 
hended? This question assumes greater importance 
when it is associated with another; namely: Has the 
experimenter selected the conditions of his experiment 
in such a way that the animal could possibly have under- 
stood what he was about°? A mere glance at the 
picture of the puzzle-box on p. 154 will suffice to answer 
this second question in the negative. Without possess- 
ing some technical experience, even a man placed inside 
of such a box would be unable to comprehend these 
mechanisms of release; for several essential parts are 
placed upon the outside, and are therefore invisible 
from within. Accordingly, the connection between the 
movement made and its effect upon the animal must 
necessarily be of a purely arbitrary sort. Even in the 
employment of the simple turning-bar lock which pro- 
duced such good time-curves, the experimenter did not 
raise the question whether this lock could be understood 
by the animal tested. Yet, unless one knows this, one 
is quite unable to decide where the difficulties lie, and 
what actually constitutes the animal’s achievement in 
overcoming them. 

Before we proceed with our criticism, certain facts 
should be mentioned which are recorded in Thorndike’s 
experiments, and are substantiated by other investi- 


167 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


gators. It can be shown, for instance, that animals 
which have already undergone a certain experimental 
training are better fitted to meet the somewhat varying 
conditions of similar tests, than other animals which are 
being experimented upon for the first time. This is 
undoubtedly to be explained in part by the fact that the 
new situation of being locked up in a box gradually 
loses its terrifying effect upon the animal; accordingly, 
as the animal becomes less excited, it makes fewer aim- 
less movements. If we compare the time-curves of 
Fig. 7 with those of Fig. 8, which relate to the same 
problem, their difference may in part be attributed to 
this influence; because the first curve is that of an 
animal learning the act of turning a wooden bar in its 
first puzzle-box experiment, whereas the two other 
animals, the time-curves of which appear in Fig. 8, had 
already been tested in other boxes where the task in- 
volved striking, biting, or rubbing against a wire noose 
hanging some fifteen cm. above the floor 5, 

In addition to the general effects of previous ex- 
perience, certain more specific influences can also be 
demonstrated. Modes of procedure that prove to be 
unsuccessful, such as biting at the bars of the cage, or 
attempting to force the body through too small an 
opening, are less frequently employed as the animal 
becomes more experienced in the tests. All these facts 
can be readily understood in accordance with Thorn- 
dike’s principles, and would naturally operate to shorten 
the learning-curve. 

It is a different matter, however, when we come to 
consider another modification reported by Thorndike, 
namely, “that the animal’s tendency to pay attention to 
what tt ts doing gets strengthened; and this is some- 
thing that may properly be called a change in degree 
of intelligence”?*. But how can this statement be 
reconciled with the assumption that animals have not 
the slightest knowledge that their actions have anything 


to do with their achievements? Why, we may ask, do 
168 


ee ee ee ee ee ee ee 


THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


they give attention; and above all why does Thorndike 
use the word zxtelligence in this connection? 

The facts upon which his statement rests are highly 
significant. After having once learned to free them- 
selves from the first box by striking at a noose hanging 
from the front wall of the cage, both cats and dogs were 
found to require much less time in freeing themselves 
from a second box in which the noose hung from the 
back wall. In the case of a particular dog replaced in 
the same box after a pause of a day or so—the noose 
being now hung considerably higher than it was before 
—the problem was virtually solved at once; the three 
first trials lasted but twenty, ten, and ten seconds, respec- 
tively. “After nine days he was put in a box arranged 
with a little wooden platform two and one-half inches 
square, hung where the loop was in the previous ex- 
periment. Although the platform resembled the loop 
not the least, save in position, his times were only ten, 
seven, and five seconds.” We have, therefore, in these 
cases a true ¢ransfer of training; for the animal em- 
ployed a procedure which was successful under certain 
conditions after these conditions had been altered, and 
he did so in a manner appropriate to the alteration. 
One might suppose that this would make difficulties for 
a strictly mechanistic theory of interpretation, but 
Thorndike believes these difficulties can all be set 
aside without altering his hypothesis in the slightest. 
Thorndike objects, quite rightly, to an obsolete psycho- 
logy which would infer from such observations that the 
animal must possess “general ideas”; that he must 
have understood, for instance, that to strike at a loop 
would bring release, or that “this thing in my cage is 
a loop” (though, to be sure, the external form of the 
loop was altered in many of the tests without disturb- 
ing the effects of practice). It can not be supposed 
that the animal is able to infer that a certain object 
must be struck at, no matter whether it hangs in front 
or behind, high or low. ee such an hypothesis one 

L09 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


may rightly object, but at the same time Thorndike 
blinds himself to what such an achievement actually 
signifies as an evidence of transfer. Thorndike thinks, 
for instance, that the animal can not see the separate 
things of our world at all; that he possesses only a 
vague total impression of the situation. Thus, a bird 
diving into the yellow water of a stream, or into a pool, 
or into an ocean, would not be able to see the difference 
that we would see in these situations. Only the total 
situation “ water” comes into consideration for the bird; 
consequently, in the experiments reported, “the loop is 
to the cat what the ocean is to a man when thrown into 
it when half asleep”. On the other hand, when a 
human being is confronted with a task, the total situa- 
tion is at once broken up into its elements, among which 
the important ones appear in the foreground. This 
reduction simply does not take place in animals. In- 
stead, it is the total situation, including its undiffer- 
entiated parts, which connects itself with the impulse 
of response, and this connection is neither influenced 
when one adds elements to the situation nor when one 
subtracts them therefrom ; provided only that something 
ts left which ts capable of arousing the impulse. Hence, 
to Thorndike, the fact of transfer indicates, not mental 
progress, but, on the contrary, a very primitive and un- 
differentiated stage of development. 

This is Thorndike’s argument, but it is self-contradic- 
tory; for in the first place the total situation with all 
its elements is supposed to be connected with the 
impulse; while in the second place we are told that the 
situation can be enlarged or reduced at will, though, as 
indicated above by the phrase in italics, one element at 
least must remain unchanged, or the connection itself 
will be lost. 

It is not our purpose to revamp the anthropomorphic 
hypothesis which Thorndike has so vigorously attacked. 
On the other hand, our conception of the primitive 
aspects of the phenomenal world can not be stated in 

170 


¢. em = — > sash » 
ED ES a py re ao 


pe ReE ie Eg teehee Lhe: 


—se 


are 


THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


terms of a number of separate phenomena, each clearly 
set off from every other; but the facts of the case do 
not require that we should accept either this older theory 
or the one Thorndike has advanced. The vague total 
situation described by Thorndike is not at all what we 
have previously referred to as a configuration, however 
primitive ; for the primitive configuration as we conceive 
it is not a single vague total quality but a “quality upon 
a uniform ground.” Neither do we find Thorndike’s 
“vague total quality” applicable in the explanation of 
any true transfer of training. Indeed, if “stupid” errors 
such as we have described occurred more often than 
they do, the theory of the total situation would be ina 
better way. If the animal in a puzzle-box, with the 
loop now hanging behind instead of in front, were 
directed only in accordance with the vague total situa- 
tion, it would be forced to strike forward in the direction 
where the loop previously hung; and all the more so 
because its natural behaviour would prompt it to attack 
its goal directly, rather than turn aside as it must do in 
order to reach the loop which now hangs at the back of 
the cage” Yet instead of following this natural 
_ tendency which would attract it to the front of the cage, 
the animal usually alters its behaviour to correspond 
exactly with the alteration of the most zmportant feature 
of the situation. Is not the inference justified, that in 
so far as the animal has learned to free itself from the 
first box, it has also learned to reconstruct the situation 
in a definite and more or less detailed manner? If so, 
the same configuration will again be effective, even 
when the loop is hung in a different position in the 
second box. And hence “stupid” errors, or responses 
carried out without reference to existing conditions (as 
when the animal strikes at a loop in a position where 
it no longer hangs), would appear to be essentially 
different from behaviour in which a real transfer of 
training is manifest. Thus it is not the “stupid ” errors, 
but the efforts of reconstruction in similar situations, 
I7I 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


which indicate the higher degrees of capacity for 
achievement. 

To explain a positive performance which happens to 
involve something more than one was led to expect of 
it in terms of an inherent deficiency, is always a ques- 
tionable procedure. We ought, therefore, to proceed 
methodically and allow the experiment itself to deter- 
mine whether the animal’s performance is to be regarded 
as an evidence of inherent incapacity or progressive 
achievement. Even Thorndike’s experiments seem to 
show that the animal not only experiences certain vague 
total situations, but that in the course of learning this 
total situation becomes organized. When the loop 
differentiates itself, it is not as though it were now seen 
as a circular or elliptical figure of definite magnitude 
and colour, it is merely “something to be struck at,” 
or “something to be moved.” As such, it comes to 
occupy the central position in the total phenomenal 
situation. This situation, however, is essentially charac- 
terized for the animal as a “situation from which I wish 
to release myself in order that I may get at the food 
which lies outside.” If, now, the loop becomes the 
central feature of the situation, this shows that neither 
it nor the movements made with it are without signifi- 
cance to the animal; for the animal has in some way 
connected its action upon the loop with the food 
outside the cage. The theory of an entirely meaningless 
learning is simply untenable. 

The phenomenal description of the loop as “ something 
to be moved ” recalls to mind a description employed in 
the preceding chapter when the distinction was drawn 
between a “transitional” and an “end-situation.” The 
loop comes to possess this “ transitional” character, and 
to it there accrues a certain definition of the kind and 
the manner of this transition. In other words, a new 
characteristic now attaches itself to a stimulus which 
originally led to quite another phenomenon ; for the loop 
which first of all was more or less vaguely involved in 

172 





THORNDIKE’S HYPOTHESIS 


the total situation now, as a result of learning, gives rise 
to anew phenomenon. This transformation could not 
result either from mere association or from a mere 
increase in the permeability of an already existing 
connection. We shall soon have something to say in 
opposition to the principles underlying the entire 
associational hypothesis. A further discussion of this 
matter can therefore be deferred until we are ready to 
take up the question in greater detail. But we have 
already achieved an important result; for in as much 
as the loop has acquired a definite transitional character, 
something actually mew must have occurred in the 
animal’s experience; or, more generally stated, the 
learning accomplished in Thorndike’s experiments has 
led to the creation of a new sensory phenomenon. 

Even from Thorndike’s own results we can see that 
the facts of the case have not been forced in order to 
make them fit our theory. Experimenting with seven 
cats, tests were made of a different sort from those 
previously described, and with quite different results. 
In these tests the animal was not allowed to free itself, 
but the box was opened by the experimenter as soon as 
the cat had either licked itself, in the case of four of the 
animals, or scratched itself, in the case of the other 
three. This experiment was also successful, and it is 
therefore of the greatest interest to know “whether the 
animals under these conditions behaved in any wise 
differently than they did in the other experiments, for 
here obviously is a kind of experimentum crucis” °, The 
behaviour was different. As Thorndike describes it, 
“there is in all these cases a noticeable tendency, of the 
cause of which I am ignorant, to diminish the act until 
it becomes a mere vestige of a lick or a scratch... . 
Moreover, if sometimes you do not let the cat out after 
this feeble reaction, it does not at once repeat the 
movement as it would do if it depressed a thumb-piece, 
for instance, without success in getting the door open. 
Of the reason for this difference I am again ignorant”, 


173 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Kohler points to this as one of the most interesting 
of Thorndike’s results. We might describe it as follows: 
The behaviour of the animal is typically different when 
the movement by which its freedom is gained is objec- 
tively meaningless. When the act has no sort of internal 
connection with release, the behaviour is not the same 
that it is when the movement leads directly, even 
though in an obscure fashion, to its end. The differ- 
ence in the animal’s behaviour corresponds with the 
difference in the conditions imposed, indicating that in 
the two cases the critical act is introduced into the 
animal’s experience of the situation in different ways ; 
which means that the act must somehow have some- 
thing to do with the situation as the animal experiences 
it, and leads us to assert that with vertebrates, at 
least, there is no such thing as an entirely meaningless 
learning. 

This conclusion is confirmed by one of McDougall’s 
experiments.’ Before the eyes of his dog, McDougall 
placed a biscuit in a box which he then closed. The 
lid of the box could be opened with comparative ease 
by pressing upon the handle of a lever. Later on the 
experiment was made more complicated, though all the 
complications were simpler in character than were the 
contrivances of Thorndike’s puzzle-box. From these 
experiments McDougall infers “that while the dog’s 
behaviour was from the first purposive; ... the goal, 
and especially the steps toward the goal, became more 
defined in the dog’s mind as he became more expert in 
his task.”. Among the data upon which this conclusion 
was based, the fact is recorded that after having once 
learned the task, the dog never repeated a fixed habitual 
series of movements, but with widely varying move- 
ments always achieved the same end. 


§ 5—Ruger's Comparative Tests on Human Beings 


We can now continue our discussion of learning by 
trial and error, by asking how a human being would 


174 





RUGER’S COMPARATIVE TESTS 


behave if he were to be confronted with a similar task. 
This question has also been investigated in America and 
it is easy to understand why H. A. Ruger,’ who under- 
took the problem, should have been led to do so after an 
investigation of animal-behaviour which he had previ- 
ously carried out under Thorndike’s direction. Ruger 
did not need to confine his human subjects in cages in 
order to force them to exercise their powers by an urge 
for freedom and food. The good will which they 
brought to the solution of their problems, strengthened 
by a desire to solve them as well as they could, furnished 
an adequate substitute for the more elementary impulses 
which motivate lower animals. The problem in his case 
was to solve a mechanical puzzle. The observer received 
a wire-puzzle and was instructed to remove some part 
of it. The time was measured from the beginning of 
the test until the puzzle was solved. The experiment 
was then repeated, always measuring the time, until the 
solution took place at once. The puzzle consisted of rings 
or other devices of wire strung together, the experi- 
mental subjects being called upon to find out which 
element of the group could be released, and how this 
might be accomplished. In comparison with Thorndike’s 
dogs and cats, these human subjects had a very great 
advantage, in as much as their problem was far more 
definite than that of the animal whose single object is 
to get out of the puzzle-box. Nevertheless, a con- 
siderable similarity exists between the two types of 
experiment; for in neither case was a comprehensive 
understanding of the mode of solution possible at the 
outset. This lack of insight was heightened by the fact 
that the puzzles were three-dimensional devices which 
most of the observers found themselves unable to fully 
comprehend. At the same time we know that man 
desires understanding, and that to him understanding 
is as much an end as the solution itself, whereas in the 
case of a caged animal the only desire is to be released. 
Despite all this the procedure adopted by human beings 
175 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


in solving these puzzles often paralleled very closely the 
methods employed by the animals of Thorndike’s 
experiments. “The times for repeated success in a 
number of cases remained high and fluctuating, the time 
for later trials in a given series being often greater than 
that for the first success... . In practically all of the 
cases random manipulation played some part, and, in 
many cases, a very considerable part in the gaining of 
success.” Naturally, connected operations of thought 
also occurred, and these were accompanied by an abrupt 
descent in the time-curve, without a subsequent ascent. 
These, however, were not the rule, and indeed the be- 
haviour could at times be so stupid that manipulations 
which led to no change at all in the situation were never- 
theless repeated again and again. Wecan see from this 
how precipitate were Thorndike’s inferences; for in as 
much as his chief argument is based upon the time-curves 
and upon the “stupid” errors, it ought to be possible 
to transfer his conclusions directly to human behaviour. 
On the contrary, untalented as a person may be for this 
sort of task, he must at least be credited with knowing 
that his movements have something to do with the 
solution of the problem at hand. Consequently, if 
human behaviour is in many respects similar to that 
of other animals, one has no right to draw the extreme 
inference that animals lower than man possess no insight 
whatever. The experiments with human beings have 
one great advantage over those with animals in that the 
subjects experimented upon can give information as to 
how the thing was done. We can thus obtain more 
or less complete information regarding the internal 
behaviour of the subject and are not solely dependent 
upon inferences. If we ask what, then, constitutes 
learning in these experiments, the answer is that in 
addition to the mere perfection of manual dexterity 
learning consists essentially in an organzzation of the 
whole procedure. Let us eliminate the few cases in 
which the solution was eae out, and follow this 
17 





RUGER’S COMPARATIVE TESTS 


process of organization in the other cases. If a suc- 
cessful movement comes about by chance, the first 
consequence as a rule is this, that the region in which 
the work is being done, or the particular kind of move- 
ment that is being made, is now emphasized and 
becomes the focus of the whole procedure. In a large 
number of cases the solution, therefore, is almost 
entirely a matter of “place-analysis,” that is, the 
subject now knows where he has to work. Thereafter 
a marked descent is recorded in the time-curve, without 
recurrent rise. Instead of the gradual elimination of 
irrelevant movements which had previously been carried 
out, we find the sudden exclusion of a considerable 
number of these. Ruger also remarks, quite justly, 
that many of the sharp nicks in the time-curves of 
animals may likewise be attributed to this same factor. 

What was found true in this very simple case also 
appeared to be true in more complicated instances, 
New variations of movements which proved to be 
successful occurred much oftener unintentionally, by 
chance, than intentionally. Their influence upon the 
time-curve, however, depended directly upon the kind 
of consciousness given to these “ fortunate variations” ; 
that is to say, a new movement which brings success 
remains in the actual possession of the individual so that 
it can be applied a second time only when it has occurred 
in such a way that its significance has been recognized. 
The deeper the insight, the stronger is this influence; a 
result which, as we shall see, has no significance at all in 
purely motor learning, but is of great importance in 
passing judgment upon the behaviour of animals. 

The nature of the subject’s understanding is described 
by Ruger in detail. It is not at all a process limited to 
human ideas, but is one that can take place entirely at 
the level of perceptual phenomena; in which case the 
perceptual material undergoes a transformation, often 
sudden and profound, without in any way involving the 
introduction of zdeas. The motor side of the perform- 


177 M 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


ance is naturally influenced thereby, so that the activity 
becomes adapted to the newly formulated field of per- 
ception. Thus this organization includes both the 
perceptual and the motor sides of the behaviour; but 
the completeness of the organization may greatly vary. 
At the lowest level, the whole process remains but a 
series of arbitrary steps, one after another. The unity 
becomes closer when these steps follow one another 
rhythmically, and at the highest level the activity is 
unified from beginning to end in the sense that a task 
is being fulfilled. 

We may infer from this description that some degree 
of organization is also present in the experiments with 
animals, and that animal - behaviour is not merely an 
objective succession of events. 

In Ruger’s cases “transfer of training,” or the 
successful application of a method learned under 
certain conditions to other and different conditions, 
always presupposed understanding. One of Ruger’s ex- 
periments substantiates this statement on the negative 
side. An observer was tested with a certain puzzle 
once, and then all the separate acts necessary to its 
solution were extensively practised in systematic order. 
The same puzzle was then given to the observer in the 
same way in which it had been given the first time; but 
failing to recognize that the practised movements had 
anything to do with it, the movements he had learned 
were not applied, and his results showed that he was no 
better equipped than if he had not had the practice at 
all. This experiment also indicates that the organiza- 
tion of the motor and the perceptual parts must be 
undertaken together. 

On the other hand, it was frequently observed that 
a certain practised procedure readily broke into another 
procedure, even when the subject knew perfectly well 
that it was entirely irrelevant to his task. This “ per- 
severative tendency ” of certain methods deserves special 
consideration, not only in view of what has already been 


178 





INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


said, but also in connection with certain experiments 
upon animals which we are about to describe. 

From Ruger’s experiments we have gained some 
insight into the behaviour of human beings in situations 
which at first were more or less obscure. It has been 
shown that improvement in efficiency goes hand in hand 
with an increased insight into the nature of the task. 
We use this word, zuszght, without theoretical pre- 
suppositions, in the common sense in which everyone 
takes it. If one knows that he is to remove a ring in 
a certain puzzle, and that in order to do so he must first 
move this piece and then that, turn the puzzle over 
and do something else, his procedure will be said 
to possess a greater degree of insight than the procedure 
of another person who simply goes ahead without any 
plan at all. But if one also knows that the ring is.con- 
nected in such and such a manner with such and such 
parts of the device, and that these are again to be turned 
so and so, his procedure will indicate still greater insight. 
The conditions of Ruger’s experiments were intention- 
ally chosen so as to make them as like the animal- 
experiments as possible. For this reason insight entered 
into them only as a result of a behaviour which origin- 
ally lacked this quality, a behaviour which could lead to 
a successful termination of the test only by chance. 


§ 6—Intelligent Learning. Kéohlers Experiments with 
Chimpanzees 


Can experiments be so planned that the animal’s 
behaviour will show insight without the aid of a chance- 
discovery? When we consider what this means, it 
at once becomes clear that both animals and children 
are well adapted to such experiments. Adults, on the 
contrary, are not suitable subjects, because they bring 
to their tasks a set of ready-made methods which need 
only be transferred to the new situation. But how 
these ready-made methods originated, it is not at all 


179 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


easy to determine. If, on the other hand, the problem 
selected makes such a transfer impossible, it is hard to 
find a suitable test; for usually a task of this order is 
altogether too difficult for an experiment. Hence the 
study of insight in its incipient forms can best be under- 
taken with children and animals. 

In experiments with animals one should begin with 
those species in which the relatively best performances 
may be expected in the problems to be solved. For 
this reason our choice unhesitatingly falls upon the 
anthropoid apes. It was therefore an event of scientific 
importance when the Prussian Academy of Sciences 
founded its station for the observation of apes upon the 
Island of Tenerife. While serving as Director of this 
station, Wolfgang Kohler devoted the major portion of 
his time to an investigation of this problem. His results 
are not only of great scientific value, but for a mere 
description of the life of the chimpanzee, as he observed 
it, they are also of such unusual interest that his book 
is worthy of detailed study by all who have anything 
to do with the investigation and guidance of human 
intelligence.©° If chimpanzees are able to solve original 
problems, not merely by chance, but with insight, then 
the behaviour of these animals ought to throw new light 
upon the nature of insight; for modes of behaviour that 
have become a matter of course with us adults may be 
expected to appear in a more plastic form in the life of 
anape. If the simplest acts of intelligence can in this 

_way be brought under scientific experimental observa- 
tion, the results must yield important data for theoretical 
purposes. With adult man, on the contrary, an in- 
vestigation of the simplest acts of intelligence is no 
longer possible. 

Since Kohler’s experiments provide us with the kind 
of information we need, we shall find it worth while to 
examine them in detail. Indeed, they furnish us with 
a significant contribution to the solution of our chief 


problems, namely the nature of /earuzng in general, and 
180 





INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


the origin of the first problems of achievement (cf. p. 152) 
in particular. 

We therefore raise with Kohler this question: Do 
chimpanzees show insight in their behaviour? Kohler’s 
general plan of investigation was as follows: “The 
experimenter provides a situation in which the direct 
way to a goal is barred, but in which an indirect way is 
left open. The animal is introduced into this situation 
which has been so planned that it is fully comprehensible. 
The animal is then left to indicate by its behaviour 
whether or not it can solve the problem by the indirect 
means that have been provided.” 1 The criterion of 
insight is found in the animal’s capacity to select the 
indirect way unaided. With reference to the words in 
italics, the experiments were so planned that, in contrast 
to the puzzle-box tests of Thorndike, the animal required 
no knowledge of human contrivances in order to select 
the indirect means to the goal. 

But may not the selection of the indirect means still 
rest upon chance? And is not Kohler’s criterion 
therefore a mistaken one? These questions are un- 
equivocally answered by the simple observation of what 
actually takes place; because the true and the chance- 
solutions are so entirely different from one another in 
their appearance that one has no trouble at all in reach- 
ing a decision as to whichis which. In chance-solutions 
the animal runs now here, now there, each movement 
being independent of the preceding, so that only bya 
kind of geometric addition can we trace the curve of 
the path followed, beginning with the point of departure 
and ending with the successful attainment of the goal. 
A true solution is quite different; for the animal pro- 
ceeds by a single continuous curve from its original 
position to the attainment of the goal. To be sure,a 
true solution often follows after a perplexed period of 
trial and error; but in this case the difference is even 
more striking, for the animal suddenly gives a start, 
stops a moment, and ce proceeds with a single 

Io 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


impulse in a new direction to the attainment of 
the goal. 

Examples of this sort will be given presently; but let 
us first note that what holds for animals also holds for 
children, upon whom Kohler performed parallel experi- 
ments, which Buhler has since supplemented” In the 
case of achild one can often notice the very moment 
when the right solution first dawns upon him by the 
way in which his face lights up. Such changes of. ex- 
pression were also noted by Kohler in his chimpanzees. 


[After Kohler. 
FIG. 9. 


It was Kohler’s rule to begin with the simplest 
problems, and to proceed systematically from these to 
the more difficult tasks. Only in this way can one be 
sure in a particular case which portion of the task was 
most difficult for the animal, and why this or that error 
was committed. 

As his first test Kohler made the following experi- 
ment (see Fig. 9): An open basket containing fruit 
was suspended by a cord from wires crossing the top 
of the animal’s cage. The cord passed through a ring, 
and the basket hung about two metres above the floor. 
The free end of the cord was then provided with a wide 
loop which was hung over a ae branch of a neighbour- 

Id2 





INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


ing tree, the branch also being within the cage. This loop 
was about three metres distant from the basket, and at 
about the same height. As soon as the loop was re- 
moved from the branch the basket, of course, would fall 
to the ground, This may not seem to be an easy task, 
yet the situation as such is far more readily compre- 
hensible than were those of the puzzle-box tests. Asa 
matter of fact, the test proved much too complicated to 
begin with; for the solution of Sultan, the cleverest 
animal at the station, was made in the following manner: 
“ After a while—the animal being very restless, as he 
was in all similar situations, particularly upon finding 
himself in unwonted isolation—Sultan suddenly went 
to the tree, climbed up to where the cord hung, and 
remained quiet a moment. Then, while glancing at 
the basket, he pulled the cord until the basket was 
drawn up tothe ring at the top of the cage. He then 
let the cord loose and drew it up again, this time more 
forcibly, so that the basket tipped when it struck the 
wires above and a banana fell out. He climbed down, 
took the fruit, climbed up and again began to pull at the 
basket, but this time he pulled so powerfully that the 
rope broke, and the basket fell to the ground. Coming 
down iminediately, he took both basket and fruit, and 
carried them off.” 8 When the experiment was repeated 
three days later under slightly varying conditions, 
Sultan at once employed the last described type of 
solution. 

We can not get very far with this result. To be sure, 
the animal has made use of the connection of rope and 
basket, but why no trace of the intended solution was 
indicated is not at all clear. Was it because the con- 
nection of rope and branch was not noticed, or was this 
connection incomprehensible to the animal? Perhaps 
the difficulty lay in the fact that the intended solution 
would have brought the fruit to the ground rather than 
into the hands of the animal, thus requiring the ape to 
employ an indirect means which at first would carry the 


183 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


fruit away from him, rather than towards him. That 
we can not answer these and other questions with any 
degree of certainty proves the inappropriateness of this 
experiment, and also the importance of the rule that 
one should proceed gradually from simple to more 
complicated tasks. 

We shall now trace the course of Kohler’s investiga- 
tions, in order to review some of his more impressive 
examples which indicate what these animals can, and 
what they can not accomplish. Kéhler began with a 
method which was literally one of indirection. Slight 
indirections, such as overcoming obstacles, are constantly 
met with in the daily life of these animals. For the 
purpose of investigating somewhat more difficult modes 
of indirection the following test was selected. In ex- 
periment No. 1 the basket was hung from the roof, but 
could not be reached from the floor. The experimenter 
then set the basket swinging near enough to a scaffold 
so that an animal who had climbed upon this could 
grasp the basket from his point of vantage. 

In other experiments the connection between the 
animal and the fruit was made by an intervening link 
in the chain of behaviour. In the simplest case of 
this kind the connection was already provided by the 
situation—the question being: Can the animal make 
use of it? Thus in experiment No. 2, the fruit was 
placed beyond reach outside the cage, but a string was 
attached to it which came within the reach of the 
animal. In the next test (No. 3), the connection be- 
tween the animal and the goal was not yet established, 
as it was with the string, but the situation included a 
stick within the cage as the only means whereby the 
animal could reach the goal. Similarly in No. 4, the 
goal was fastened to the roof and a box was placed in 
the cage which could be employed in order to reach 
it. A third variation of this method (No. 5), provided 
that the goal which was hung aloft could be attained 
if the animal would swing itself upwards by means of 


184 





INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


a rope which hung at a distance of two metres from the 
basket. All these experiments involve the employment 
of tools, by which we mean nothing more than the intro- 
duction of a mediating factor. 

When reversed, this principle leads to the setting 
aside of obstacles. In experiment No. 6 the fruit lay 
outside the cage with a stick for reaching it conveniently 
at hand. Within the cage and directly opposite the 
goal a fairly heavy box was placed, which prevented the 
animal from employing the stick successfully, thus intro- 
ducing a new difficulty. In order to attain the goal a 
tool is required which is not immediately available, 
because something else must be done before it can be 
used. This antecedent activity is introduced as a new 
intermediary which must be first dealt with before the 
animal can proceed from its original position to the 
attainment of the goal. This procedure can be described 
as the fabrication of a tool. 

In experiment No. 7 the fruit was again placed out 
of reach in front of the cage, but neither a stick nor 
anything like a stick was at hand. In the rear of the 
cage, however, there was a desiccated tree, branches of 
which could easily be broken off and used as sticks. 

In experiment No. 8 a swinging rope suspended from 
a bar for gymnastic purposes was slung over the bar 
three times in a manner easily comprehensible to a 
human being. In order to reach the goal this rope had 
to be used, but first it had to be uncoiled from the bar. 

Experiment No. 9 was still more difficult, for the rope 
had been removed from its hook, and laid upon the 
floor; before it could be used it had to be re-hung. 

In experiment No. 10, a box which must be placed 
under the goal in order to reach the fruit was filled with 
stones so that it was too heavy to move until the stones 
had first been taken out of it. 

In experiment No. 11, two bamboo sticks were pro- 
vided, each of which was too short to reach the goal; 
but one stick could be vee into the other, and 

165 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


when thus put together the tool would be of adequate 
length. 

In experiment No. 12, the “building” test, the goal 
was too high to be reached by a single box, but if two 
or three boxes were piled one upon another it might 
then be attained. 

The indirect means to the goal were now elaborated. 
Before the original goal another goal was introduced 
which could not itself be directly attained. In experi- 
ment No. 13 the animal sat close to the bars of its cage, 


{ Goal 


‘ (After Kohler. 
Fic. 10. 


opposite the goal which was outside. In the animal’s 
hands was a stick, which, however, was too short to 
reach the goal. Outside the bars and some two metres 
to one side of the goal, but lying nearer the bars, was 
placed a longer stick which could not be reached with 
the hand, but could be reached with the aid of the 
shorter stick (see Fig. 10). In experiment No. 14 the 
stick with which the goal could be reached was hung 
from the roof, and could be attained only with the aid 
of a box placed under it. This experiment could then 
be still further complicated by having the box filled 
with stones. 

The principle of indirection was then varied in two 
ways. (1) By indirection a the use of the tool: Is 

I 





INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


the animal capable of finding an indirect means of 
employing the tool by which the goal is attained? In 
experiment No. 15, a device was employed which we 
shall call a “detour-board.” The animal sat near the 
bars, and at a distance of about forty-five centimetres 
from a square drawer, with open top and lacking a rear 
wall, which was placed before it outside the cage (see 
Fig. 11). The fruit was then put in this drawer near 
the side toward the animal. The animal received a 
long stick in its hand, but in order to attain the goal 
the fruit must first be pushed away from the animal, 
which is contrary to the usual method of bringing the 


Sees Oe ear Oul Om Oo Op TO. TOL GO 


Gowen 
Goal 


ere (After Kéhler. 
food directly forwards. After the food had been pushed 
back until it was free of the drawer, it must then be 
pushed sidewards ; only after it was completely outside 
the drawer could it be brought forwards. This detour 
involves an indirect procedure in the true sense of the 
word. 

In experiment No. 16 a further complication was 
introduced ; in order to obtain the food, the stick had 
first to be removed from the place where it hung by an 
iron ring, six centimetres in diameter, upon a vertical 
iron rod, thirty-five centimetres long, which extended 
from a box. Before making use of the tool, the animal 
had to remove it from this rod, which meant that the 
animal must turn ninety degrees away from the goal 
in order to secure the stick. 

A second variation was as follows: (2) “In the 
course of using the tool the goal was brought into such 
a position that it could be attained only through an 


187 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


alteration of the animal’s position.” In experiment 
No. 17 (Fig. 12) the fruit was placed near the side wall 
(A) of a large cage which was closed with horizontally 
nailed boards. One of the upper boards was removed 
so that the animal could reach inside the cage, though 
not far enough to touch the floor where the goal rested. 
The opposite side of this cage (B) was provided with 
bars through which the animal could also reach, though 
not far enough to attain the goal when it was placed 
near A. A stick was then provided which could only 


° 
; omy 
One: 
Tree sy Goat ° : 
‘1 (ee ° 
a! oB 
I ° 
| ° 
| ° 
[SRS RA eee 
— ow on oe High opening (A) 
© 0 © © Oo Bars (B) 
[After Kohler. 


HiGy 12. 


be used on side A, since it was fastened by a rope to 
a tree on that side. In order to secure the fruit, what 
the animal had to do was first to push the goal with 
the stick towards side B, and then proceed to the B-side 
of the cage and procure the fruit by reaching with its 
hands through the bars. 

The plan of all these experiments was to make them 
perspicuous to the animal. The later and more com- 
plicated tests presuppose that the simpler tests have 
already been successfully performed; thus new factors 
were systematically introduced, in order to make the 
solution constantly more difficult. By this method it 
was easy to find out from the failures which occurred 
what the animal’s difficulties were. 


188 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


The reader may ask if the chimpanzees were able 
to solve all these problems. Before answering, how- 
ever, let it be stated that individual differences are so 
marked that one really ought never to speak of the 
capacity of a certain species. What one animal can 
do, another can not, and in all these experiments 
marked individual differences were both demonstrated 
and measured. With this reservation, the answer to 
the question is that only one of these experiments 
(No. 9), failed completely in the case of each animal 
tested. This was the test in which the rope had to be 
fastened to a ring in the roof. All the other problems 
were solved, and most of them as completely as one 
could wish, though in a few cases it was obvious that 
the limit of the chimpanzee’s capacity had been reached. 

By considering the concrete processes involved in 
the most important of these tests, we can give an 
account of the chief results. We shall begin with the 
experiments dealing with the employment of a tool. 
In this connection, No. 2 deserves detailed description. 
All the animals were able, without hesitation, to draw 
in the fruit when it was attached to a string, even when 
the string was very long; the test having been suc- 
cessful with a string as long as three metres. Nor was 
this task accomplished in the manner in which an 
animal might play with a string which it happened to 
find on the ground, and thus by chance come into 
possession of the fruit attached to the end of it; on 
the contrary, it was observed that the string was always 
drawn “quite literally with regard to the goal. Glanc- 
ing toward the goal, the animal would begin to draw 
the string ; the animal’s behaviour being always directed 
upon the goal rather than upon the string.” We might 
imagine this to be an obvious procedure for any animal, 
but when Kohler made a comparative test with a dog 
that had shown considerable capacity in other experi- 
ments involving ordinary features of indirection, he 


found that the dog was quite unable to carry out this 
189 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


act. Although taking the liveliest interest in the goal, 
the dog never took any notice of the string which lay 
beneath his nose ', 

This experiment was also varied with the chimpanzees, 
so that in addition to the actual connection of one string 
with the fruit, other strings were also placed near by, 
all leading in the direction of the goal. In this test it 
appeared that any string extending to the fruit might 
be pulled, whether it was fastened to the fruit or not, 
but that among a number of strings it was the shortest 
rather than the right one which was the more likely to 
be grasped. It would seem, therefore, that visual factors 
determine the behaviour of the chimpanzees in these 
simple tests, and that a visual connection may take 
the place of an actual connection—as when a notice- 
able visual characteristic, such as the shortest length, 
determines the choice from among a number of strings 
of different length. 

Regarding the employment of sticks in experiment 
No, 3, attention may be called to the following details. 
This problem was also mastered by all the animals, 
Some animals, indeed, were already familiar with it 
when the experiments were begun. With other animals, 
where the experiment called for the use of a stick for 
the first time, it was observed that from the very start 
the animal would place the stick correctly behind the 
goal in order to fetch the fruit forward. The employ- 
ment of sticks can again be made more difficult by a 
simple alteration of the experimental conditions. The 
farther away the stick lies from the critical position, the 
more difficult it is for the animal to make use of it. It 
sometimes happens that sticks which the animals have 
previously used lose their significance when they are 
removed to a sufficient distance. If a stick is so placed 
that it is not visible when the animal’s gaze is on the 
goal, or in the course of a wandering glance which is 
limited to the region of the goal, its employment may 
be prevented. Even if the animal occasionally looks at 

190 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


the stick, it does not necessarily employ the tool, because 
it can not see both the stick and the goal at the same 
time. In this respect, “one might say that the chance 
of a stick becoming a tool is a function of a geometrical 
constellation.” 4% This limitation, however, holds only 
at the outset; for animals that have often been placed 
in such a situation soon overcome this difficulty, and 
thereafter the solution is no longer hindered by a visual 
separation of the goal and stick. 

From this significant influence of visual factors we 
can understand the actual accomplishment of the animal 
in his employment of the stick; for it is not merely a 
matter of seeing or noticing an object such as a stick, 
because before it is employed the object must cease to 
be an isolated neutral thing to the animal, and become 
a member of the situation at hand. The object, must, 
in short, become a “tool.” As a necessary condition 
for a correct type of behaviour an alteration must 
occur in the object of perception. What at the beginning 
possessed only the character of “indifference,” or “some- 
thing to bite upon,” etc., now obtains the character of a 
“thing to fetch fruit with.” It is thus easy to under- 
stand how a spatial separation of the stick and the fruit 
might render this process difficult ; because an isolated 
thing can spring into a complex more readily when it 
can be viewed simultaneously with the complex than 
when it is spatially remote from it. 

The difference between the behaviour of dog and 
chimpanzee in experiment No. 2 indicates that for the 
chimpanzee the string belongs at once to the complex 
of the goal, whereas for the dog the string remained an 
isolated object which does not enter into this complex 
at all. 

The act of employing a stick seems to involve a trans- 
formation in the situation confronting the animal; for 
the stick, which at first was a matter of indifference 
to the animal, now becomes definitely related to the 
situation. What the animal has actually learned is to 

IgI 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


make an irrelevant object relevant to the situation, 
which is something quite different from an external con- 
nection between a certain stick in the field of perception, 
and a certain sequence of movements. If, for instance, 
a stick is not available in a situation that requires its 
use, something else may be employed, such as a piece 
of wire, the rim of an old straw hat, or a wisp of straw. 
In short, under these conditions, “anything that is 
longish and movable may become a ‘stick’ in the purely 
functional meaning ofa ‘ tool-for-grasping’.” 1. Indeed, 
one of Kohler’s apes fetched its coverlet from its sleeping- 
room, and, pushing it through the bars, was able thereby 
to whip the fruit within reach. 

These performances, like those referred to above 
(p. 169), also indicate transfer, and from the instances 
here described it may confidently be said that transfer 
can not be explained in the manner suggested by Thorn- 
dike. The chimpanzee’s perception of the situation is 
by no means so obscure that, in a purely visual sense, 
either a handful of straw, or indeed a coverlet—which 
furthermore had to be fetched from another room, and 
did not originally belong to the situation at all—is 
identical with the stick which was first employed, or so 
like it that the animal can not apprehend a difference. 
On the contrary, only one conception of the performance 
is possible: that the animal has acquired an ability 
to introduce “tools” into certain situations. Nor is 
this ability limited to the particular thing with which 
it was acquired; on the contrary, it is an acquisition of 
a much more general nature. As Kohler expresses it, 
the stick as it appears in the field of vision has acquired 
a definite functional value in certain situations, and this 
effect is itself carried over to any object which may 
have certain general characteristics in common with 
sticks, even though these objects appear otherwise quite 
differently. What is going on in the phenomenal world 
of the chimpanzee’s mind is made concrete to us by 
one of Kohler’s observations. In watching an animal 

192 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


tantalized by the fruit which he can not reach until he 
has hit upon the employment of a stick or some other 
tool, Kohler remarks that “in consequence of my 
anxious expectancy, a transformation takes place in my 
own field of view, so that longish and movable objects 
no longer are seen as though they were mere things of 
indifference, static in their respective positions ; instead, 
they begin to appear as if in a ‘vector, and as if under 
pressure they were being drawn toward the critical 
position.” 

A transfer of learning from one thing to another 
results, therefore, from the sensible application of a 
certain principle of configuration. First, sticks, and 
later other things, come to acquire a place in the 
situation, and to enter into its configuration as members. 
The implication previously suggested (above p. 172)— 
contrary to Thorndike — with reference to primitive 
modes of transfer, attains a greater degree of probability 
in the light of these considerations ; and this behaviour 
signifies something more than a mere matter of atten- 
tion. Buhler, however, seems to think that these cases of 
transfer in Kohler’s animals can be explained by atten- 
tion alone. Whenever we seek an object, according to 
Bihler, a dispositional state of observancy is aroused 
in us. Accordingly, if the ape sits “near the bars of 
the cage while an attractive morsel lies outside, the 
well-known act of fetching it with a branch is the idea 
which occupies the ape’s mind; and however vague 
this idea may be, if the ape chances to be moved by a 
restlessness to run about the cage—the goal always 
before him—sticks with which the fruit can be fetched 
will be the things which most readily emerge in his 
consciousness.” 1 Bihler regards this explanation as 
in agreement with Kohler’s idea of a functional value, 
but 1 must confess that what seems to me the most 
important thing about Kohler’s hypothesis is alto- 
gether lacking in Bihler’s explanation. To say that 
“things with which one can fetch fruit” emerge in the 


193 N 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


animal’s mind misses the point. By an act of attention 
a stick or a coverlet may come into the focus of atten- 
tion; but these articles remain what they were—a stick 
of wood and something to sleep under. Although they 
may also be “tools” suitable for fetching fruit, no mere 
act of attention can endow them with this phenomenal 
property. Attention, for which “seeking” is a natural 
condition, is only a secondary consequence of this pro- 
cess. The situation is unsolved, and presses for solution, 
and the animal’s behaviour consists in transferring to 
certain things the characteristics of a “tool” which they 
did not previously possess. 

Experiment No. 4, involving the employment of a 
box in attaining a goal which hung too high to be 
otherwise reached, throws some light upon the nature 
of the performance when it does not go smoothly at 
once. The animal in this case was Koko, the youngest 
ape at the station. At first he sprang and struck at the 
goal, then he went away from the wall upon which it 
was hung, but only to return again. ‘“ After some time 
and at a moment when he happened to be away from 
the wall, he approached the box and, glancing across 
at the goal, gave the box a slight push, without, how- 
ever, moving it from the spot. His own movements 
had now become much slower than heretofore. At first 
he left the box standing, and took a couple of steps 
away from it, then he returned and gave it another 
push, after again glancing at the goal. But this act, too, 
was without sufficient force to indicate that he was 
really trying to move the box.” The procedure was 
repeated, however, and the next time the box moved 
some ten centimetres towards the goal. The goal was 
then made more attractive by the addition of a piece of 
orange. A few moments later Koko again stood by the 
box, grasped it suddenly, and pushed it in one move- 
ment almost exactly under the goal. He then climbed 
upon the box, and snatched the fruit from the wall. 
“Enriching” the goal had strengthened the animal’s 

194 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


impulse sufficiently to bring about the solution. One 
can not say that the animal was at first too indolent to 
employ a solution he already knew; for a few moments 
later the experiment was repeated with the goal hung 
upon another part of the wall, some three metres distant 
from its former position, and this time the animal failed 
altogether. The first weak pushes which Koko gave to 
the box must therefore be regarded as steps preparatory 
to the true solution. Thus, although the box tended at 
once to enter into the situation, it was not evident at 
first how its entrance should be effected. “A single 
word is appropriate in describing the animal’s behaviour 
during this period, namely, that the connection between 
the box and the goal was beginning to ‘dawn’ upon 
him.” 

The ape was unable to repeat the solution ; for though 
tested again on the same and on the next day, and later 
on four different days with greater intervening periods, 
each trial was unsuccessful. On one occasion he 
placed the box so near to the wall that standing upon 
it he could almost have reached the goal. He did, 
indeed, climb upon the box at once, and reach as far as 
he could, but he made no attempt to move the box. 
Obviously it is not enough to bring the box into a 
general relationship with the situation; for a second 
point of importance is ow this relationship shall 
function. 

The experimenter was forced to interrupt these un- 
successful experiments, because the ape in his exaspera- 
tion would end by rudely mishandling the box. After 
a pause of nine days—nineteen days after the first 
experiment—the test was renewed. This time the 
solution was fairly prompt, and could be repeated there- 
after without hesitation. In the meantime the only 
noticeable after-effect of the first solution was that 
“something had to be done with the box.” 18 

We have described this experiment in full because it 
furnishes some insight into the stage which intervenes 


195 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


between perplexity and a complete solution. The ex- 
periment shows how the direction of the solution was 
prepared for before the first success was achieved, and 
how thereafter all that remained was a kind of “ place- 
analysis” which reminds us of Ruger’s experiments 
(see above p. 177). 

From another observation upon the employment of 
boxes, in a later and more complicated experiment, we 
can see what this behaviour involved. If an animal is 
unable to make use of a solution with which it is already 
familiar, the conditions that interfere often indicate 
what are the most characteristic features of the act. 
For instance, one of the animals, Chica, strove with all 
her might to attain a goal suspended from the roof, 
without ever using a box which stood in the middle of 
the room, although she had already mastered the use 
of boxes in similar tests. It could not be said that the 
box was overlooked, for the animal repeatedly squatted 
upon it when she was out of breath, and yet she made 
not the slightest effort to bring the box under the goal. 
During the whole time, however, Tercera, another ape, 
was lying on the box; when at length Tercera chanced 
to fall off the box, Chica grasped it immediately, carried 
it under the goal, and mounting it snatched down the 
food.® From this behaviour it may be inferred that 
the box upon which Tercera was lying was not an 
“object with which to fetch the goal,” but “something 
upon which to lie.” Consequently the box simply did 
not come into connection with the goal so long as it 
possessed a definite configuration of its own that made 
it inappropriate as a tool in another situation. To 
release a thing from one configuration, and transfer it 
by reconstruction into another configuration, would 
seem to be a relatively high-grade accomplishment. 
Nor is this difficulty confined to chimpanzees; on the 
contrary, it plays an important part in human thought. 
For instance, when you have need of a shallow dish, it 
might never occur to you that you could use the cover 


196 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


to a pot, unless such a cover happened to be lying 
before you on the table, away from the pot, in which 
case you would probably make use of it at once. 

From the point of view of an adult human being, it is 
not easy to judge whether the problem of setting aside 
obstacles is simple or difficult for an animal. Tous the 
obstacle-experiment, No. 6, would seem to be far easier 
than the application of a stick, or a box, asatool. To 
a chimpanzee, however, the solution of No. 6 is rather 
more difficult; for not all the animals were able to ac- 
complish it unaided. In general a chimpanzee is able 
to fetch a tool from a considerable distance, and bring 
it to bear upon a situation more readily than he can 
remove even a very simple obstacle from the same 
situation; the reason being that it is always hard to 
break up a definite configuration which already exists. 

In the fabrication of tools we find examples in which 
a “reconstruction” of the situation was successfully 
carried out. In experiment No. 7, for instance, the 
achievement consists in seeing a branch as separate 
from the tree of which it is a part; that is to say,a 
thing which appears as a branch must be seen as a 
stick, and this proved to be a very difficult task for the 
less talented animals. It was noticed also that before 
a dead branch would be broken from a tree, the animal 
first tried to release a bar from its cage, because the bar 
was visibly a more independent object than the branch. 

Experiment No. 8 indicates a new difficulty, and con- 
sequently a new aspect of the achievement. After 
experiment No. 5 had been successfully carried out, the 
test was repeated under the conditions of experiment 
No. 8; and the result was that every animal strove to 
pull the rope down from the bar into the normal posi- 
tion from which it could be used asa swing. Yet nota 
single animal solved the problem correctly by first un- 
coiling the rope. What the animals did was to grasp 
the rope any way, and pull it down as far as it would 
come. Only ‘once in a while could the rope then be 


197 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


used to swing with, and only the best of the gymnasts 
could employ it successfully. The nature of this be- 
haviour with respect to a coiled rope leads one to think 
that apes see these simple orderly coils, not as we do, 
but rather as a confusion of strands like a snarl, which 
we, too, are apt to attack without any definite plan, by 
grasping a strand at random and pulling at it. Though 
objectively a simple construction, a coil of rope seems to 
be something that a chimpanzee is incapable of appre- 
hending as a clear-cut visual form ; instead, it seems to 
appear to him as a more or less chaotic figure, and this 
indicates a certain limitation in his capacity of achieve- 
ment. This limit, however, is not unsurpassable; for 
two years later, when two of the same animals were 
again confronted with this problem, one of them, Chica, 
solved it at once, completely and adequately, by un- 
coiling the rope as well as any man could. The other 
animal, Rana, although less successful, at least behaved 
with much greater assurance than she did before. Some 
development in the capacity of visual configuration and 
reconstruction seems therefore to have taken place in 
both these apes, although Kohler estimates the degree 
in which this capacity can be improved very slight. 
Unusually impressive was experiment No. I1 with 
the double-stick. It was the cleverest animal, Sultan, 
who was here tested, and even he depended for his 
success upon the assistance of chance. For over an 
hour Sultan had laboured in vain, trying among other 
things the following procedure: one stick was first 
stretched as far as possible in the direction of the fruit, 
and then carefully pushed still farther by the second 
stick until the goal was actually touched. Thus, a con- 
tact was made with the goal, but unfortunately one that 
could not be used. This vain attempt at a solution was 
nevertheless fully carried out, so as to constitute a 
uniform configuration connecting the animal with the 
fruit. The experiment was then given up, and Kohler 
departed. Sultan, however, retained the two bamboo 


198 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


sticks, and the keeper remained at his post. It was 
the keeper who observed the animal, first sitting upon 
a box which stood near the bars, then rising, picking up 
the sticks, and after reseating himself on the box, be- 
ginning to play with them aimlessly. “In the course 
of this procedure it happened by chance that Sultan 
held one stick in each hand in such a way that they 
came into line with one another. He then placed the 
smaller one in the opening of the larger, sprang at once 
to the bars, toward which his back had previously been 
half-turned, and began to draw in one of the bananas 
with the double-stick. I called to the director, though 
in the mean time the sticks had fallen apart, because 
they had not been well fitted together ; but the animal 
immediately replaced them.” So runs the report of the 
keeper, and Kohler himself arrived in time to see the 
rest of the animal’s performance of refitting the sticks 
together and securing the fruit’. After his first suc- 
cess Sultan repeated the act a number of times, without 
stopping to eat until he had fetched into his cage, not 
only all of the fruit, but also a number of other things. 
He appeared to enjoy the act, and he retained the 
method of solution so well that on the following day 
he was able to construct a still longer stick from three 
bamboo stalks. Although Sultan’s solution depended 
upon the help of chance, chance operates here quite 
otherwise than it does in the experiments described by 
Thorndike; for it was not chance that led to the goal, 
nor did chance provide a practicable tool; instead it 
was the chance-situation when the two sticks were in 
line with each other, that favoured the correct solution. 
The solution itself was authentic, as the animal’s sub- 
sequent behaviour proves. As soon as the two bamboo 
stalks were seen as one, they were likewise seen as the 
tool which had previously been lacking. Although a 
“fortunate variation” assisted in the solution, the solu- 
tion itself is in no wise to be counted as having been 
one of chance. In order rightly to evaluate the assist- 


199 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


ance thus rendered, we must review the situation in the 
light of our own ways of thinking. While it is, of 
course, a greater accomplishment to be able to solve a 
problem by thinking it out, it is often difficult enough 
for human adults to make use of a chance circumstance 
as Sultan did where he passed from a type of behaviour 
without insight to an action which possessed this quality. 
Thus chance and insight are by no means opposed to 
one another, for insight frequently comes through the 
employment of chance. 

Acts of building, as described in experiment No. 12, 
again furnish new data; for in these performances the 
behaviour of the animals indicated very clearly that two 
different problems were involved. The one of setting 
a box on top of another box is no great task for an 
animal which already knows how to use boxes ; but the 
problem “of placing one box upon another so that it 
will stay there is extremely difficult”; this problem 
requires that a body of a certain form shall be united 
with another of similar form to produce a definite result 
—something which the chimpanzee never accomplished 
with insight, but only by trial and error. An ape will 
use structures so insecure that we would scarcely dare 
touch them with the finger for fear they might topple 
over ; yet the ape does not hesitate to mount them, and 
with his great bodily skill he is often successful in 
reaching the goal before the whole building tumbles 
down. Here again we have evidence that the animal’s 
visual insight is limited.1” 

Experiment No. 13 was solved with insight by the 
more talented animals. What was demanded in this 
solution is again shown by the behaviour of the less 
talented apes, who, being unable to detach the shorter 
stick from the configuration involving bars and goal, 
could not compass the more complicated configurations 
leading from the shorter stick to the longer stick, and 
from this to the final goal. 

Where problems requiring detours that involve inde- 

200 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


pendent, intermediate ends are correctly solved, the 
primary and secondary goals belong in such wise to 
the total configuration that they acquire very different 
kinds of value for the animal. This is again revealed 
by characteristic errors. In experiment No. 14 Koko 
was moving a box to the wall upon which hung a stick 
needed to secure the fruit; but on his way he had to 
pass by the fruit, and when he came near it “he was 
suddenly deflected from his straight course towards 
the stick, and began to use the box as if it were a stick 
with which to reach the fruit.” Thus, influenced by the 
greater effectiveness of the fruit itself, when it was near 
at hand, the originally present and correct configuration 
of the solution was quite destroyed before it could be 
carried out. 

The “detour-board” of experiment No. 15, in which 
the fruit had first to be pushed away from the animal 
before it could be seized, was in many respects informing. 
In the first place this problem was so extraordinarily 
difficult that even Sultan was unable to solve it com- 
pletely. Only one animal, Nueva, after poking vainly 
at the fruit a great many times, suddenly reacted with 
the correct solution by shoving the fruit to the open 
end of the drawer—that is, at an angle of 180° away 
from herself. But even in her case, when the goal was 
almost at the open end of the box, a counter-action was 
suddenly made which brought the fruit back some five 
centimetres towards her, after which the problem was 
correctly solved. Counter-actions of this sort appeared 
again and again in later experiments, showing how 
difficult it was to overcome a strong contradictory 
tendency ; and yet one would be inclined to think that, 
for an animat that makes detours so easily and so 
naturally as the ape, this one with the aid of a tool 
ought to be a very simple matter. On the other hand 
“even behaviour with insight which indicates intelli- 
gence must not receive an interpretation too highly 
intellectualistic.” ?” 

20I 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Sultan was the only other animal to succeed in this 
test; and he was aided by chance as he had been in 
the case of the double-stick previously described’. He 
was then able to accomplish the task of first pushing the 
goal at an angle of 180° away from himself; but the 
experiment had to be made easier for all the other 
animals. This was readily done by simply turning the 
drawer at a certain angle; whereby one could also 
measure the degree in which the test was made more 
easy, because as the detour-angle became smaller, it 
was found that animals hitherto unable to accomplish 
the task could now do so. Thus the size of the angle 
at which the problem was first solved could be taken as 
a direct measure of the accomplishment, and likewise 
of the intelligence employed. When the drawer lay 
parallel to the bars of the cage, so that the detour-angle 
was 90°, all the animals were successful. The rank 
attained by the animals in these tests also corresponded 
exactly with one which Kohler had previously estimated. 
Thus the detour-board proved to be an excellent test 
of intelligence. 

Test No. 16 also indicated a limit to the ape’s 
intelligence. To lift a ring from a nail was a per- 
formance which only the cleverest animals could carry 
out, and then only in their best moments. It was not 
merely by chance, however, but with insight, that the 
task was then accomplished. “The ring on the nail 
appears to present a visual complex to the chimpanzee 
which can only be completely mastered in case the 
conditions of attention are favourable at the moment. 
On the whole, however, there is a marked tendency to 
see the ring on the nail in a more obscure manner as 
soon as the animal falls short of the requisite degree of 
attentiveness ” "4, 

Considering all these tests together, we find the 
animals actually solving new problems which have 
been presented to them. Furthermore, the essential 
thing about these solutions is not a new combination 

202 


INTELLIGENT LEARNING 


of movements with which the animals were already 
familiar, but a “new configuration of the whole field.” 
As has been shown by the previous discussion, the 
assumption that we are dealing with new combinations 
of old modes of behaviour can be maintained only if we 
accept chance as the creator of these new connections. 
To one who understands Kohler’s experiments, it is 
impossible to assume that chance played any such part 
in them. This conclusion is obvious when we review 
the two chief arguments advanced by Thorndike in 
favour of the chance-hypothesis. Thorndike’s first 
argument, derived from the form of the time-curve, 
must certainly be given up; for in view of the long 
periods of time which often intervened in these ex- 
periments before the animal found a solution to the 
problem, it is quite apparent that time-measurements 
of the chimpanzee’s behaviour would not decide the 
question of chance-insight. These periods were always 
occupied, either by activities which had nothing what- 
ever to do with the solution, or else by rest. During 
such a pause, however, Sultan “would scratch his head 
slowly, otherwise moving nothing but his eyes or 
perhaps his head, while he observed the situation 
about him in the ‘most careful manner”?”; which 
indicates clearly enough to the observer with what 
kind of behaviour the ape was engaged during these 
vagrant periods. As for the solution itself, it occurred 
typically as a single course of action without a break; 
and when the test was repeated the correct action would 
be almost immediately carried out. Thus, if one were 
to use time-curves at all, their evidence would be very 
strikingly against the operation of chance. 

Thorndike’s second argument based upon “stupid” 
errors appears to have as little weight as the other. 
Altogether Kohler observed but eight instances which 
might be called “stupid” errors; each of these was 
“an ‘after-effect’ of an earlier correct solution that had 
been frequently repeated, and had therefore acquired a 

203 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


tendency to reappear without reference to the particular 
situation at hand. Furthermore, conditions favouring 
such errors appeared to be states such as sleepiness, 
fatigue, having a cold, and also excitement ” !"6, 

Along with these “stupid” errors certain other 
mistakes occurred which have a special significance 
in understanding the behaviour involved. These other 
errors arise when one part of the principle of solution is 
correctly understood, while at the same time the problem 
involves some difficulty with which the animal is unable 
to cope. Thus, for instance, in order to increase the 
length of his stick, the animal would often seize two 
sticks and place them with the end of one touching 
the end of the other. This provided him with a longer 
stick, to be sure, but not with one he could use. It was 
this procedure that furnished the initial stage of Sultan’s 
double - stick solution (see above, p. 198). To give 
still another example, the following behaviour was 
observed in the building-experiment. Chica found 
that with one box alone she could not attain the goal, 
no matter how high she jumped from it. “Suddenly 
she grasped the box with both hands and, pressing it 
with great force against the wall of the room, lifted it to 
the height of her head in the direction of the goal which 
hung above. If only the box had remained stuck to 
the wall her problem would have been solved ; for then 
she might easily have climbed upon it and reached the 
goal”, “Good” errors of this kind certainly can 
not be explained by chance; because the acts we 
have called “ good” errors do not appear in arbitrary 
situations, but only under conditions where they signify 
something “good,” that is, where they actually bring 
the animal somehow nearer its goal. 

With respect to the problem of achievement con- 
sidered at the beginning of this chapter, K6hler’s 
experiments show that chimpanzees accommodate them- 
selves to new situations, and solve new problems, by 
actually undertaking new modes of behaviour. As 

204 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


Kohler has expressed it’”, the directions, the curves, 
etc., of these solutions may spring as autochthonous (and 
not necessarily “from experience”) out of a stationary 
situation. This conception also supports the explana- 
tion given above of the animal-experiments reported 
by American psychologists. In the achievements of 
Kohler’s chimpanzees we find new creations of a pure 
type occurring, in these experiments, quite free from 
chance. Instead of the solution first arising by chance, 
and thereafter becoming more or less “understood,” 
understanding, or an appropriate transformation of the 
field, precedes the objective solution. We may there- 
fore be permitted to call solutions of this kind intelligent 
performances of a primitive order. When a solution is 
found, the situation is altered for the animal in such a 
way that a gap in the situation is closed; that is to 
say, the desired but unattainable fruit has come within 
reach. We have here the characteristics of “closure” al- 
ready met with in a previous connection (above p. 103); 
for when the problem is “solved” everything in the per- 
ceptual situation depends upon the total configura- 
tion. Likewise every movement has its place, so that 
the configuration, as we have called it, becomes unequi- 
vocally defined and complete. Dynamically considered, 
a configuration in time—and we now understand by 
configuration, not merely a plan in the field of per- 
ception, but the total process of the solution leading 
up to the attainment of the goal—has both a degznning 
and an end. 


§ 7—Other Interpretations placed upon Kéhler’s 
Liaperiments 


Before proceeding to evaluate the results thus far 
obtained, we must defend our position against certain 
objections that have been made to the conception of 
the chimpanzee’s performance as a new creation, or asa 
sensible reconstruction of the situation with which he 
is confronted. 


205 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Bihler, for instance, who has considered Ko6hler’s 
experiments in great detail, expressly recognizes both 
the value of the method and the far-reaching results 
obtained?” With respect to the interpretation of 
these results, however, he advances certain critical 
objections. Yet to my mind his objections appear to 
rest upon a failure to realize the precise bearing of 
Kohler’s point of view upon the explanatory principles 
of psychology in general; for what Buhler attempts is 
to make the behaviour of these animals comprehensible 
in terms of the usual principles of psychology ; whereas 
the results themselves seem to prove that these principles 
are inadequate, and must therefore be replaced by others. 
Summarily expressed, traditional psychology makes use 
of the following principles of explanation: sensation and 
image, memory (including the associative mechanism), 
and attention. Now Bihler belongs in the front rank 
of those psychologists who have recognized the in- 
completeness of this framework, particularly as regards 
the explanation of thzzking. He has therefore supple- 
mented these principles with others, although he still 
retains the older ones unaltered. Ina special case 
(p. 193 f.) we have already found it necessary to reject 
his elucidation of one of the chimpanzee-experiments, 
where he employed the principle of attention in ex- 
planation of a type of behaviour which appeared to us 
an outcome of the law of configuration. We shall now 
examine the nucleus of Bihler’s ideas in greater detail, 
in the hope of being able to demonstrate the signifi- 
cance of the principle of configuration which we have 
adopted. 

Bihler agrees that the behaviour of these chimpanzees 
must be sharply differentiated from what one calls 
instinct and training. By training Buhler means learn- 
ing after the manner of Thorndike’s animals, whereas 
Kohler’s animals solve their problem with the aid of 
inner mental processes equivalent to those we call 


reflection. These inner processes can be regarded only 
206 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


as an equivalent, however, and are not at all identical 
with true reflection. In contrast to training, the 
behaviour of these apes may be designated as “ dis- 
coveries,’ but according to Buhler, one must differ- 
entiate a true discovery from a discovery by chance, 
which only indicates the blind activity of an associative 
mechanism, without insight. Buhler endeavours, then, 
to show that the behaviour of these chimpanzees can be 
fully understood in terms of chance-discoveries, or at 
any rate that no evidence has yet been given of the 
existence of any higher accomplishment. 

With this purpose in view Buhler employs a series of 
assumptions which he tries to support by reference to 
Kohler’s descriptions. (1) “The principle of making a 
detour and the principle of fetching a fruit by pulling 
down a branch, or by tearing one off for this purpose” 
—these, he thinks, belong to the chimpanzee’s instinctive 
dispositions. (2) The chimpanzee is able to empathize, 
or feel itself towards, the end-situation of attaining its 
goal; which is “not difficult to explain theoretically 
as a memorial after-effect of successful pursuits of a 
goal in the past.” By these means, the ape can find 
his way to the goal, whether the way be conceived in 
the ordinary meaning of the term, or as providing an 
appropriate tool. (3) So far as material relations 
determine the behaviour of the animal, the assumption 
suffices that these relations are merely “noted,” just as 
sensory contents are noted. 

The third point is the more important; for from it 
Bihler infers that no real insight into the activity has 
been demonstrated. But what is implied by this state- 
ment that material relations are “noted”? In the first 
place, the statement refers only to the objective be- 
haviour of the animal—for instance, that a connection 
between the stick and the fruit such as might be readily 
grasped by a human observer has likewise been em- 
ployed by the animal. But “noting” is also commonly 
used as a description of inner behaviour, and Bihler 

207 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


also employs the term in this way. The latter usage 
would signify that along with the phenomenon in which 
this possible connection has been presented to the animal, 
there is added something else—the ‘‘noting” of it—which 
may or may not be represented phenomenally, and 
hence the previously unnoticed phenomenon becomes a 
noticed phenomenon, though otherwise it remains un- 
altered. A certain blue within the field of vision does 
not become another colour-tone through my noting it, 
and according to Bihler’s argument this assertion of 
persistence without alteration applies both to material 
relations, and also quite generally to any relation 
whatsoever 38, 

This hypothesis can be attacked from two sides. In 
the first place one can say! that a psychological 
description must limit itself, initially, to the determina- 
tion of what is phenomenally given; whereas the em- 
ployment of a concept like “noting” carries us beyond 
. the phenomenal data of observation. When I say that 
I have failed to notice the difference between two 
colours, my statement is ambiguous and incomplete to 
a psychologist, because what he wishes to know is what 
I actually did note—what positive phenomena were 
present. In the case we have cited the answer might 
be: that the two colours were identical. But the 
psychological description (without noting) would then 
contradict the objective description (with ‘noting) ; 
because it has been assumed that the noting of a pheno- 
menon, whether of a sensory content or of a relation, 
leaves it qualitatively unchanged; whereas here in 
noting the phenomenon a relation of equality has been 
changed to one of inequality. At least I do not see 
how one can state the case otherwise from the point of 
view of Biihler’s argument. If, however, the observer 
is unable to tell what the phenomenon was before he 
noted it, then, of course, we have the case for which this 
hypothesis of noting was put forward. But have we a 
right to substitute a noted for an unnoted phenomenon? 

208 


ot Ah .- 


i A i 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


Must we not rather ask upon what this ignorance of 
the so-called unnoted phenomenon depends? In other 
words, what is the positive, phenomenal characteristic 
of a complex so questionable that it calls forth a reply 
of ignorance as to its nature? An answer to this 
question is not so difficult: the phenomena which now 
appear as two colours were previously not there at 
all, even though their stimuli were operative. These 
stimuli would then provoke phenomena having the 
characteristics of what we previously called a dack- 
ground. Noting would then signify that a background- 
effect has been transformed into an effect of quality. 
Applying this interpretation to the experiment with 
the apes, the implication is that when the ape notices 
certain material relations he transforms the perceptual 
field in which these “ material relations” were previously 
lacking into one in which they become central. Thus 
the field is altered so as to present a xew configura- 
tion adequate to the problem. This, however, is what 
we have repeatedly referred to as being the essential 
feature of the animal’s achievement. 

The hypothesis of noting can also be tested in a 
second way, by asking what it can do in the explana- 
tion of a concrete case. Buhler assumes that the 
animals simply note the material relations that are 
given; but these relations in which the parts of a 
situation stand to one another, and to the situation as 
a whole, are innumerable. A stick, for instance, may 
be at the right of an animal and at the left of a tree; 
it may be nearer to the tree than it is to the bars of 
the cage, it may be longer than a piece of wire which 
is closer at hand; etc.,etc. The theory must explain 
why, among all these innumerable relations, it is pre- 
cisely the most important one that comes to be noted 
as the determinant of behaviour. What we should say 
is that an intelligent construction of the field takes 
place with respect to the goal, and that the solution is 
nothing else than the arousal of this construction 

209 O 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


Hence the problem of innumerable relations does not 
exist for us, because “innumerable relations” do 
not determine a meaningful configuration. If one 
wishes to eliminate intelligence, and refer to the event 
as the blind effect of an associative mechanism, one 
must be prepared to explain why it is precisely the 
significant rather than the insignificant relations that 
are noticed. It seems to me that Biihler has confused 
the issue by approaching it with a fixed definition of 
“insight,” which presupposes a judgment involving 
experiences of certainty and assurance’, Since judg- 
ments of this sort have not been demonstrated in the 
case of chimpanzees, insight must therefore be denied 
them. But even if Biihler’s description were appro- 
priate to the behaviour of adult human beings when 
they act with insight, it would not at all follow that the 
simplest kind of behaviour with insight must likewise 
possess these characteristics of judgment. Thus Lind- 
worsky, who has gone much further than Buhler in his 
criticism of Kohler’s work, remarks that the appre- 
hension of relations need not imply any assurance; 
this apprehension being “neither certain nor uncertain, 
but simply undoubted 184.” We should say that “ signi- 
ficance” resides in the configuration, in the “noted 
material relations” themselves, whereas Bihler seems to 
assume that something new must be added to endow 
a content with meaning. Thus when we think it 
through, Bihler’s third assumption seems only to lead 
us back again to our own hypothesis. 

Let us now see how matters stand with regard to 
his two other assumptions. The first one, that detours 
are instinctive, would make it useless to try to give 
any explanation at all; because all instincts can be 
characterized by their goals, whether they be instincts 
of nourishment, of sex, of nest-building, or of anything 
else; yet such a characterization of instinct never 
indicates how a new path involving a definite detour 
can be determined merely by the situation at hand. 

210 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


Again and again we have seen that instinct inhibits 
the ape from following a detour, and impels him to 
follow a more direct course; and even Bihler recognizes 
that the performances of Kéhler’s apes must be sharply 
differentiated from those of instinct **. 

The second assumption of placing oneself in the 
end-situation, and then finding a way back, is of no 
greater help, for it is altogether a matter of opinion 
whether or not one is justified in attributing any such 
capacity of projection to the apes’®*. Certainly Buhler 
has not demonstrated that this capacity must be granted 
them. Indeed, his data1®8’ would agree quite as well 
with an assumption that the animal really comprehends 
the achievements both of himself and of others of his 
kind. Nor can I see that anything has been gained by 
Bihler’s assumption. Why should it be easier to find 
one’s way from the goal back to the starting-point, 
than to find it in the opposite direction? The principal 
thing is the finding, and what the nature of this achieve- 
ment must be we have seen in our discussion’of Bihler’s 
third assumption. 

In order to be more concrete, let us see how Bihler 
conceives the associative mechanism to function, 

“That the animal knows how to handle branches 
appropriately ... does not astonish us, because this 
does not exceed the capacities of instinct and training. 
Certainly an arboreal animal must be quite familiar 
with the connection of branch and fruit. If, now, he sits 
in a cage before the bars of which a ‘branchless fruit’ 
has been placed, while within the cage there is a ‘ fruit- 
less branch, the psychological achievement would be 
mainly to incorporate the two, so to speak, into one 
idea. Everything else is self-evident”. The ex- 
planation requires no insight, because the assumption 
of a chance-discovery is sufficient. This interpretation 
is characterized by the employment of well-known 
principles of psychology, among which memory and 


ideation play a leading part. Yet I believe it can be 
2II 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


shown that a true explanation is not thereby furnished 
us. Buhler states that before the bars a “branchless 
fruit” has been placed, while within the cage there is a 
“fruitless branch”; but actually we have only a fruit 
outside and a stick inside. In order to see the fruit 
without a branch, and the branch without a fruit, would 
necessitate an achievement in which an isolated thing 
becomes a member of a configural whole. The appear- 
ance of ease and obviousness, which this achievement 
seems at first to possess, arises only because we refer 
it to the animal’s memory, upon the assumption that 
the animal has seen fruit on branches, and branches 
with fruit, so often in the past that now the appear- 
ance of fruit arouses the idea of a branch which 
should belong to it ; and similarly the sight of a branch 
suggests the fruit which ought to hang from it. 

But surely this carries us into the realm of speculation, 
without any possibility of testing the validity of assump- 
tions which demand a high degree of ideational ability 18% 
In seeing a fruit lying upon the floor in the environ- 
ment of its present artificial surroundings, we have 
to assume that an idea is aroused in the mind of 
the animal deriving from days long since past in the 
forest. Likewise, the animal is called upon to per- 
ceive a bare stick as a “branch” in order to be able 
to reproduce the fruit which should hang from it; 
whereas the branches upon which the animal formerly 
found its fruit in the forest must have had leaves; 
furthermore they would not normally be seen as isolated 
parts, but as members of a tree or of a group of trees in 
which the animal lived. From his intimate knowledge 
of apes, Kohler concludes that their ideational material 
is at best very rudimentary, and that so-called “images” 
are virtually a negligible factor in their experience. 
Kohler also points out that images would be of little 
help to animals whose visual perception of relatively 
simple forms tends always to remain vague and con- 
fused. Even adult human beings must often strive to 

212 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


overcome a confusion of ideas, and this effort would 
presumably be hopeless in an animal whose perceptions 
are vague to begin with. Biihler accepts Kohler’s 
opinion as well-founded ™, yet this certainly undermines 
his assumption that apes can reproduce their percep- 
tions. Furthermore, if imaginal reproduction were 
frequent among apes one might expect that a real 
branch, still in the possession of its branch-function, 
would be more readily employed as a tool than a mere 
stick, or the rim of a hat. We have seen, however, from 
the relevant experiments of Kohler (No. 7 in our list 
above, pp. 185 and 197) that the result was just the 
opposite; since the ape found it very difficult to 
perceive a branch as something which can be torn loose 
from a tree; although, according to Buhler, it ought to 
be easier to imagine a fruit in connection with the 
branch of a tree than to imagine it associated with a 
stick lying upon the floor. We have interpreted the 
difficulty of the branch-experiment as indicating that it 
is very hard to destroy an already existing configuration, 
and we have applied this principle of configuration to 
the difficulty the animal finds in setting aside an 
obstacle. Here again the difference between our theory 
and Bihler’s mode of interpretation is apparent; for 
Biihler explains the latter difficulty by saying that an 
arboreal animal like the chimpanzee seldom has any 
occasion to set aside an obstacle, and his achievements 
are merely a matter of memory. 

A third objection to Bihler’s ideational theory may 
be stated as follows: When an animal in its wild state 
wishes to attain a fruit hanging from a branch, it will 
usually bend the branch towards itself, or else break 
the branch off. But when one of Kohler’s animals 
employed a stick for the first time as a tool, it placed 
the stick immediately behind the goal, and began to poke 
the fruit forward in the right manner. The essential 
feature of this performance obviously has nothing in 
common with the animal’s behaviour in the forest. 

213 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


The connection of the branch with the fruit in one 
idea presupposes a higher ideational level than we have 
any right to assume in the animal. Furthermore, the 
ideational supplementation of a fruit without a branch, 
or of a branch without a fruit, would at best provide 
nothing more than the idea of a fruit hanging from a 
branch. Since only that which has once been experi- 
enced can be “reproduced,” the idea in this case would 
_ be nothing but a fruit on a branch; it could not indicate 
how the fruit seen at the moment might be brought 
into connection with the stick which is at hand, for this 
would involve a new achievement. I am therefore 
unable to understand how Biuhler’s assumption makes 
eyerything else “self-evident, 72) .As) Deseesit the 
problem is to bring the fruit and the stick together. 
But, disagreeing with Biihler, I find this connection to 
be: (1) not in the field of ideas, but in the field of 
perception; (2) I find it to be, not the reproduction of 
an earlier experience, but the apprehension of a new 
connection; and (3) I do not assume the opposed 
relations of a fruit without a branch, and a branch 
without a fruit to be present Jdefore they are united; on 
the contrary, all the perceptual situation contains at 
first is a desired but unattainable fruit together with a 
quite irrelevant stick. Consequently the stick could 
not be regarded by the animal as “ lacking a fruit” until 
after it had entered into some sort of configural re- 
lationship with the fruit. Bihler’s assumption is there- 
fore superfluous ; instead, we have a new configuration 
suddenly arising in which an irrelevant stick becomes a 
“bridge” in the situation of the ape’s desire for the 
fruit. The sudden grasping of the solution which 
results is a process that runs its course in accordance 
with the nature of the situation, so that the complete 
solution of the problem takes place with reference to 
the configuration of the field of perception; and this 
is what Kohler maintains to be the criterion of insight. 
Indeed, this is the chief result of Kohler’s experiments ; 

214 


INTERPRETATIONS OF KOHLER 


and it is a result which applies not only to our know- 
ledge of apes, but also to the whole psychology of 
insight and of intelligent learning. The far-reaching 
implications of the principle of configuration are at once 
obvious. Not only are explanations based upon the 
theory of association unnecessary, but the principle of 
configuration denies the entire concept of association 
as it has previously been employed by psychology in 
terms of external and meaningless bonds of connection. 

Yet Kohler’s conclusion that chimpanzees show 
indications of insight has been attacked by P. Lind- 
worsky in a far more radical manner than by Buhler. 
To Lindworsky insight begins with the apprehension 
of relations, which he denies to the apes. Instead, 
Lindworsky employs a number of explanations for the 
ape’s behaviour which involve instincts and recollections 
of forest life, quite as Biihler has done. He then draws 
two important conclusions: First, in contrast with man, 
the anthropoid species, he says, has stood for thousands 
of years at a stationary mental level; consequently 
“the chimpanzees’ mode of behaviour could not possibly 
show insight even though we should find ourselves 
unable to explain it in any other way.”’ Secondly, 
“the achievements of chimpanzees can not rest upon 
the apprehension of relations, for if they did we should 
be faced with the contradiction that in some acts a very 
large number of ready and relatively high-grade appre- 
hensions of relations are observable, whereas in others 
we meet with the most remarkable absence of this 
capacity.” 1% 

I regard neither of these arguments as conclusive, 
but with reference to the second will remark that what 
is difficult, and what is easy, in the apprehension of 
relations is something that can be determined only by 
experiments such as Kohler has performed. Contra- 
dictions may exist between assumptions made regard- 
ing different achievements, and the results of the 
experiments, but certainly not between the difficulties 

215 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


themselves and Kéhler’s contention that the animal’s 
solutions involve an “apprehension of relations” with 
true insight. 


§ 8—Criticism of Kohlers Experiments 


We might conclude this discussion here were it not 
for the fact that Kohler’s critics have attacked his work 
in stillanother way. Let us recall the experiments on 
choice-training which indicated the primitive nature of 
configural functions. In these experiments a test was 
made to find out whether training was a matter of an 
association established between a movement and an 
“absolute” sensory content, or if the bearing of one 
upon the other—that is, the configuration itself—deter- 
mined the animal’s behaviour. The connection between 
the achievement and the configuration is certainly quite 
arbitrary and meaningless when food is placed in either 
the brighter or the darker box, according to the will of 
the experimenter. It should also be remembered that 
in the critical test-experiments which followed after 
training, both boxes contained food. Under these con- 
ditions either the “absolute” or the “configurative” 
choice might have been expected, and either would 
have satisfied the animal’s want. Since from our point 
of view a test of “intelligence” involves a configural 
function, it ought to be possible to place the animal 
under conditions where there would be an alternative 
between an “absolute” and a “configurative” choice, the 
“configurative” response being intelligent, whereas the 
“absolute” response would remain unintelligent. An 
experiment of this kind was developed from the test with 
the double-stick (cf. above p. 198 f.)'*. In connection 
with this experiment it should be noted in advance that 
in fitting the sticks together the ape always placed the 
thinner one within the thicker one, holding the thicker 
one passively in the left ae and moving the thinner 

21 


CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


one towards it with the more skilful right hand. Ina 
special series of experiments Kohler employed four tubes 
of different diameter so that No. 1 fitted into No. 2, No. 
2 into No. 3,and No. 3 into No. 4. Two of these tubes, 
chosen in the serial order as given, were laid horizon- 
tally parallel before the animal, sometimes the thinner 
and sometimes the thicker being nearer at hand. No. 2 
now became the thicker when paired with No. 1, while 
it was the thinner when paired with No. 3. Out of 
twelve trials Sultan grasped the thinner tube at once 
with the right hand, and the thicker with the left hand, 
eight times. In the other four trials, in which the sticks 
were at first grasped differently, they were changed 
“as quick as they were seen in the hands, without any 
testing, and always before the animal undertook the 
performance itself.” In the majority of cases the animal 
picked up stick No, 2 with the left hand, or with the 
right hand, according as it was to be combined with 
No.1 or No. 3. In other words, the ape handled the 
objects with reference to the configuration in which 
they stood to one another. Chica, who had previously 
acquired the double-stick method from Sultan, behaved 
likewise in these tests. Only once in the twelve trials 
was the thinner tube placed in the thicker one by the 
left hand. 

In this behaviour Kohler finds a proof of insight into 
the solution of the problem, because the apprehension 
of the bearing of the two diameters upon each other 
determined with certainty the function of each tube. 
Thus Kohler contends that the manipulation of things 
with reference to their important material relations 
can be employed as a criterion of behaviour with in- 
sight—that is to say, of intelligence. 

This conclusion is attacked by Lindworsky, who 
maintains that it involves a logical fallacy, because the 
same criterion can be applied to instinct. The only 
criterion of intelligence, he thinks, is “the manipula- 
tion of things with complete insight, or the manipulation 

217 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


of things in consequence of an insight into their 
material relations”? I must confess I can find 
no logical fallacy in Kohler’s procedure. What we 
have to determine is whether an observed behaviour 
shows insight or not, whether it is an intelligent per- 
formance or not; but the criterion by which this 
decision is reached must not itself include the concept 
of insight. Lindworsky’s reference to instinct is in- 
appropriate, because in purely instinctive manipulations 
the more important material relations are impotent just 
as soon as the situation varies to any considerable 
extent from the normal type of behaviour. This has 
been shown with remarkable clearness in the work of 
H. Volkelt?* upon the behaviour of the spider. Volkelt 
observed that the spider will rush out of its nest and 
attack a fly which has been caught in its web. The fly 
is killed and fastened to the net; after which the spider 
returns to its nest, and proceeds to finish its meal upon 
another fly whose remains are still in its possession. 
Only after its meal is finished does the spider return to 
the web and bring the new prey into its nest. On the 
other hand, if one introduces a living fly into the nest, 
the same spider will react to it with the behaviour of 
flight and avoidance. Moreover, in the case of the 
chimpanzee, when the situation includes fruit beyond 
its reach and two sticks at hand, each too short for its 
purpose, we can hardly imagine an instinct which could 
guide the ape in putting these two sticks together. 
Lindworsky inquires further, at what point in the act 
of the double-stick experiment does insight occur? But 
as soon as we have given up the idea that the perform- 
ance consists of separate bits, and are ready to con- 
ceive it, instead, as a single total response of the type 
which we have described as a “closure,” this question 
is quite irrelevant. Lindworsky, however, fancies he 
can detect three points at which insight might have 
occurred : (1) in the recognition as to which is the wider 
tube; (2) in the sticking of the smaller tube into the 
218 


CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


larger one; and (3) in the employment of the lengthened 
stick, He then proceeds to deny insight at each of 
these three points; believing that all three achieve- 
ments can be otherwise explained. Taking up these 
points in the process in reverse order, No. 3 “explains 
itself as a chance-solution favoured by the pleasure 
which attaches to the desire for food, and thereafter 
made easy by self-training (Kohler).” But compare 
this description with the one given of the’ first experi- 
ment (cf. above, p. 199) ; and observe how Sultan, while 
first angling for the fruit, repeated the act of putting the 
sticks together immediately after they had fallen apart ; 
then observe how he continued to angle after many 
valueless things which he poked into the cage before he 
began to eat the fruit. Furthermore, let us not forget 
the difficulties we encountered with reference to the 
current theory concerning the influence exerted by 
pleasure upon learning, and likewise our discussion of 
the part played by chance, especially in this case (above 
p. 199). Chance-solutions, the favourable effects of 
pleasure, and self-training, all these terms are quite 
inappropriate to the actual conditions and results. 
According to Lindworsky, the second point in the pro- 
cedure—the placing of one stick in the other—may well 
be an instinctive act. “In building a nest,” he writes, 
“if it is requisite that a new twig should be introduced 
into the already plaited form, it is quite natural that the 
left hand of the ape should be placed at the opening 
while the right hand thrusts in the twig.” The uniformity 
with which the animal always sticks the thinner into the 
thicker tube—never covering the thinner by the thicker 
—also the animal’s passionate impulse to poke things, 
as described by Kéhler—these are both regarded by 
Lindworsky as evidences of the uniformity characteristic 
of an instinct. But, 1 ask, what has poking at holes to 
do with the achievement of a lengthened stick? Noth- 
ing at all, except the quite irrelevant circumstance that 
in both instances we have a hole and a stick. Every- 
219 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


thing else in these two modes of behaviour is so vastly 
different, that analysis of this sort had best be avoided 
altogether. The lengthening of the stick offers no 
ground for inferring a stereotyped procedure. If the 
animal had varied its method by now poking the 
smaller stick into the hole of the larger, and again by 
covering the smaller with the larger stick, it might as 
well have been argued in a contrary fashion that the 
animal had no intelligence, because he only made move- 
ments of one kind and another until a result was finally 
achieved. With reference to the nest-building instinct, 
it may also be remarked that Sultan was not building 
a nest, and that putting two sticks together has nothing 
whatever in common with nest-building. Why, then, 
should just this particular part of the nest-building in- 
stinct have been effective in this case? What a curious 
idea it is, indeed, that the uniformly smooth course of 
the ape’s performance, as it actually takes place, should 
be capable of analysis into such heterogeneous parts as 
the ones Lindworsky assumes are supplied by instinct, 
chance, and training. 

Instead of deriving his hypothesis from the facts 
newly discovered by Kohler’s experiments, Lindworsky 
attempts to explain everything that might occur in the 
ape’s behaviour in terms of the simplest possible psycho- 
logical concepts. Indeed, Lindworsky maintains that, 
even if we were quite unable to explain the animal’s 
behaviour in any other way, there would still be no 
warrant for assuming that it involves insight. As to 
this conclusion, two remarks may be made: First, if 
the laws according to which animal-behaviour is deter- 
mined are to be laid down in advance, of what use is 
it to carry out these troublesome experiments? And, in 
the second place, would Lindworsky’s assumptions ever 
have led any one to perform experiments like those 
of Kéhler? Certainly the connection between method 
and theory of investigation is far too close to permit 
an affirmative answer to these questions. 

220 





nS ee eee ae v, 





—————— a ee 


a 


——- SOE 


—— 


CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


There still remains Lindworsky’s first point, the 
recognition of the wider tube. Here we meet with a 
criticism directed against Kohler’s theory of configural 
functions. Similar objections to those of Lindworsky 
‘have also been advanced by Buhler, while Jaensch?®”, 
two years after Kéhler’s publication, has reported ex- 
periments made with hens, in which he employed a 
method similar to that of the Kéhler-experiments (p.138). 
Jaensch, however, has given his results a theoretical 
interpretation which agrees with the views of Lind- 
worsky and Bihler, and is therefore, in principle, quite 
different from the interpretation given by Kohler. In 
view of the consequences drawn from Kéhler’s theory 
at the close of the last chapter we must now consider 
this other hypothesis in some detail. 

We saw that after an animal had been trained to 
differentiate two things, A and B, in a certain way—say 
with reference to their brightness—so that B would 
always be chosen; if a test-experiment were then made 
in which B and C were presented to the animal, C differ- 
ing from Bin the same way in which B differed from 
A,in the majority of cases not B but C will be chosen. 
The results of these experiments were explained, in 
agreement with Kohler, by saying that the animal was 
not trained with respect to the absolute presence of B, 
but with reference to the deavzng of A upon B; accord- 
ingly, the configuration which C possesses with respect 
to B remains the same as that which B possessed with 
respect to A. In other words, two colours adjacent to 
each other are not perceived as two independent things, 
but as having an inner connection which is at the same 
time a factor determining the special qualities A and B 
themselves. This statement agrees with the description 
of the phenomena in question, because under similar 
conditions introspection finds the most characteristic 
feature of such an experience the “ togetherness” rather 
than the separateness of the two colours 1%, 

The negative side of this thesis—that “absolute” 

221 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


training is less effective than “configural” training—is 
admitted by all investigators; but the positive side, 
which regards the configural functions as very primitive 
processes, is denied and another explanation advanced 
in its place. 

Schumann was the first person to observe certain 
unique phenomena which accompany the process of 
comparison. Thus in the successive comparison of two 
circles, or lines of different length, an extension or a 
shrinking appeared in the field of vision according as 
the eyes passed from the smaller to the larger or from 
the larger to the smaller object. If one employed 
brightness- instead of magnitude-differences, this ac- 
companying effect consisted in a “transitional experi- 
ence” of brightening or darkening. The hypothesis 
we are now discussing concludes from the results of 
these experiments that the animals were trained with 
reference to these ¢vansztzonal experiences. “In training 
so that ‘dark gray is forbidden, while ‘medium gray is 
allowed,’ what the hen in truth learns is that it is allowed 
food whenever a transitional experience of ‘ brightening’ 
occurs” 1%, In the test-experiments the animal chooses 
with reference to “configuration” rather than “absolute” 
colour, because the transitional experience from B to 
C is the same as it was from A to B. The main differ- 
ence between this and Kohler’s explanation is that this 
one holds to the old concept of sensation, supplementing 
it, in order to bring it into accord with the results of the 
doctrine of comparison, by the addition of the new 
concept of the transitional experience. It is the same 
procedure we have so often noted; whenever any new 
facts reveal a defect in an explanation previously 
employed, instead of doubting the accuracy of the 
explanation — once it has become firmly rooted — 
something is merely added to make it adequate to the 
new facts. 

Let us consider this particular addition a little more 
closely. Transitional experiences are added to “sensa- 

222 





CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


tions,” but the sensations are left quite untouched. The 
connections between the sensations remain completely 
objective, even though one can infer the relations be- 
tween the absolute elements from the transitional ex- 
periences, as both Jaensch and Bihler do. Jaensch, to 
be sure, goes even further ; for, employing an expression 
of Brunswig’s, he declares that the transitional experience 
“hovers and reigns between the two objects, since it is 
a quality of neither of them”? What this may mean, 
concretely, and what inferences can be drawn from it, 
unfortunately we are not told; yet here is a decisive 
point, because the doctrine of transitional experiences, 
in so far as it is actually distinct from the theory of 
configuration, can signify only that to the absolute ex- 
perience of A and B, a transitional experience T is 
added as a third content to the two other contents ; 
from which it might be inferred that T can undergo 
definite association just as well as A or Bcan. Indeed, 
the hypothesis is stated in just these terms by Lind- 
worsky. But that T should ever “hover” between A 
and B, as Jaensch maintains, is something new; for 
then A—T—B becomes a uniform whole, the nature of 
which is itself in need of explanation. Is it, indeed, 
anything else than the “ bearing of one upon another,” 
the “togetherness” of the two, which Kohler has re- 
marked? 

It may be objected, however, that transitional sensa- 
tions are observable data. But what of that? Nothing, 
so far as I can see, except that this “bearing,” this 
step from one member of a pair to another, has been 
observed under the unnatural conditions of a labora- 
tory experiment. When, however, the transition takes 
place in a natural manner, one can not “see” it; 
being intent upon finding “sensations,” one “sees” 
only A and B, whereas transitional sensations emerge 
only under quite special conditions. But the question 
is a false one to begin with, because the description is 

223 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


psychologically incorrect. It is incorrect to maintain 
that nothing is given in a phenomenal pair of colours 
except one colour here and another colour there, just 
as it would be incorrect to describe the accompanying 
figure (see Fig. 13) as one vertical and one 
horizontal line. What we actually see in 
this figure is an angle, and in the case of 
a pair of colours what we see is a com- 
bination, a configuration, for which we 
require no transitional experience. And, 
indeed, any transitional experience that 
we may have always presupposes the existence of 
a configuration ™!, 

The following difficulty also appears to arise in con- 
nection with the doctrine of transitional experiences, 
These experiences are quite unknown to most persons, 
and it requires a “careful psychological analysis” before 
they can be apprehended. What right, then, have we 
to regard them as being the essential constituents of a 
comparison, even going so far as to attribute them to 
hens? 

In reply to this objection the advocates of the theory 
of transitional experiences reply that our judgments 
may be determined by sensory impressions which them- 
selves are too weak to be noticed. In support of this 
hypothesis Jaensch refers to a well-known experiment 
upon the perception of depth. If one looks through a 
tube with one eye at a thread, one can readily recognize 
its approach or withdrawal. The image on the retina 
alters its width with the movement of the thread—the 
image becoming wider when the thread is nearer, and 
narrower when the thread is more distant. If, following 
Hillebrand’s procedure, we replace the thread with an 
object whose displacement produces no such change in 
the retinal image—as, for instance, the sharp edge of a 
screen extending into the field of view—even consider- 
able displacements will be quite unnoticed. From this 
Jaensch concludes “that in the case of the thread judg- 

224 


Fic, 13. 





CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


ment can rest only upon the change in the magnitude 
of the retinal dimensions which accompanies the altera- 
tion of the thread’s distance, and although this change 
is too small to be directly noticed as a change of magni- 
tude, still it must determine the judgment of distance. 
The same is true of transitional experiences which 

. in spite of the very slight impression they make 
upon us, may yet serve as a basis of judgment”? In 
this explanation we again find the inappropriate con- 
cept of “noticing.” Otherwise the facts can be described 
as follows: A change in the breadth of the retinal 
image does not necessarily produce a change in the 
breadth of the phenomenon ; for under certain conditions 
this change of retinal breadth may, instead, give rise to 
a phenomenal difference of dzstance. But the mediation 
of the judgment by a phenomenally unnoticed change 
of breadth is a mere hypothesis and, in addition, one 
which is in principle undemonstrable”’. I can cite a 
quite analogous case where even Jaensch must recognize 
the validity of our interpretation. The enlargement of 
a retinal image may have the general effect of making 
the corresponding object appear larger. As a rule, 
however, the phenomenal enlargement is not propor- 
tional to the actual enlargement, but lags somewhat 
behind it; consequently the object seems to project 
itself towards us, and become clearer and more striking. 
Perhaps the best example of this is afforded by looking 
through lenses, such as those of opera-glasses; for the 
objects seen alter their apparent magnitude and distance 
very little, whereas their clearness undergoes a very strik- 
ing increase. Yet in this case an analysis of the pheno- 
menon into unnoticeable components which influence 
our judgment is quite out of the question. Jaensch, 
himself, has made notable contributions to the study of 
similar phenomena without recourse to any hypothesis 
of unnoticed sensations. It follows, therefore, that 
there is not the slightest occasion for introducing these 
hypotheses into the explanation of phenomenal magni- 

225 P 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


tudes, and hence the argument for the necessary existence 
of transitional experiences falls to the ground. 

We are also led to a like conclusion when we 
examine the argument Bihler employs. Transitional 
experiences, says Buhler, “are like hearing the over- 
tones of a clang, which requires a certain practice 
before one can find these ordinarily neglected factors of 
experience” ?°4, So-called clang-analysis, or hearing 
out the partial tones of a clang, has often been advanced 
as a striking demonstration of the existence of unnoticed 
sensations; yet Kohler has now shown that if one 
examines the facts precisely and without prejudice such 
an interpretation is unwarranted, because clang- 
analysis is an artificial production of certain tonal 
phenomena which occur only by reason of a special 
direction of the attention, whereas under normal con- 
ditions they do not exist at all. Although it is possible 
to practise this art of attention until overtones can be 
readily heard, there is nothing at all remarkable in this 
fact. Nor is any support given to Bihler’s hypothesis 
by the fact that psychologists who, under experimental 
conditions, have practised seeing transitional experi- 
ences—such as those involving the comparison of 
distances—are able to find transitional experiences in 
their everyday lives. Helmholtz, indeed, found that 
for a time his enjoyment of polyphonic music was 
greatly disturbed by the insistence of the overtones 
which he had learned to analyse. 

Thus a reference to clang-analysis does not overcome 
the difficulties of the hypothesis. Yet all these diffi- 
culties disappear when we consider, as proposed above 
(cf. p. 225), that under special conditions transitional 
experiences arise within the configurative phenomena 
themselves. For under these special conditions we do 
have a close analogy to the hearing of overtones; 
although the analogy now agrees rather than disagrees 
with the position we have taken. In other words, we 


can find no ground for assuming that transitional ex- 
226 


CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


periences exist where they are not observed, and even 
when they are observed the original experience—the 
configural phenomenon—instead of disappearing, re- 
mains unaltered, just as does the clang-colour of a 
sound when we listen to its overtones. 

Our discussion is intended to convince the reader 
that there is no need of calling upon transitional ex- 
periences to explain phenomena in which these experi- 
ences are not observed; and in any event that a far 
simpler and a much more evident explanation can be 
given in terms of configural function. But the facts of 
the case are even more favourable to a theory of con- 
figuration than this statement might indicate; for with 
the progress of psychological investigation more and 
more instances have come to light in which the effects 
of configurations have been discovered where there was 
no possibility of referring them to transitional experi- 
ences. I need give but one example, similar to the 
previously cited case of two grayish colours of different 
brightness. Suppose we try to find out how much 
colour must be added to a certain gray of a definite 
brightness in order that it shall become just noticeably 
coloured. The minimal noticeable increment of colour 
is then called the colour-threshold. What we shall find 
is that the configuration of the whole phenomenal 
appearance exercises a marked influence upon this 
threshold ; for the colour-threshold is dependent, not 
only on the brightness of the gray with which the 
colour is mixed, but also on the brightness of the 
uniformly gray background upon which the gray that 
is mixed with colour has been placed. We find, indeed, 
that the threshold is at its minimum, and the least 
amount of colour-admixture required, when both the 
gray and its background are of the same brightness, 
After adding to a medium gray upon a background of 
the same brightness the minimal amount of colour 
necessary to make it barely noticeable, the colour will 
immediately disappear as soon as the background is 

227 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


replaced by another which is either brighter or darker. 
This result can be stated as a law of configuration by 
saying that the greater the configurative difference 
between the brightness of a field and its background, 
the higher is its colour-threshold, and the more difficult 
is it to produce a colour-configuration.”® Thus we see 
that colour - configurations are effective even where 
transitional experiences are altogether lacking. 

The reader must pardon the detail in which this 
problem of the transitional experiences has been set 
forth, because its importance for systematic psychology is 
far-reaching *”. Let us now apply the hypothesis of the 
transitional experience to the experiments with animals. 

Two grays, A brighter than B, are placed before the 
animal. When the animal glances from A to B it will 
experience a darkening, and when it glances from B to 
A, a brightening. Since B is the colour which is to be 
allowed, training will consist in establishing a connec- 
tion between a certain kind of behaviour and the 
experience of darkening. The transitional experiences 
of brightening and darkening ought, however, to occur 
in accordance with whichever direction is taken by the 
wandering gaze. The question therefore arises why one 
of these transitions should be preferred to the other. 
The answer to this question has appeared so obvious to 
writers on this subject that they have not taken it up at 
all; and, indeed, the training-theory has but one possible 
answer. When the fowl has the transitional experience 
of brightening, both the eye and the head have been 
moved from B towards A. The head is therefore 
directed upon A and it should begin, wrongly, to peck 
at A. On the other hand, with the experience of 
darkening it turns from A towards B, and this time 
pecks at B and secures food. That is to say, the 
objective condition that the appropriate transitional 
experience finds the fowl’s head nearer to the right gray 
than it is to the wrong gray is alone responsible for the 
fact that the fowl can be Sora by this means. Again 

22 





ip set tal 


_ 
av 
ed 
all 
b¢ 


CRITICISM OF KOHLER 


we are faced with a mechanistic interpretation of the 
whole process, the validity of which is so questionable 
that I do not believe it can be made to agree with what 
is actually observable in these experiments with hens*®. 
In the first place, we have to assume that the hen works 
like an automaton. Consider, now, the case of Sultan 
with his double-stick. How could “training” have 
effected his behaviour? For at the first attempt, 
without a single trial, Sultan took the thicker tube in 
his left hand and the thinner one in his right hand °°, 
When, therefore, Lindworsky writes “that the first 
achievement (that is, the differentiation of the wider 
and the smaller tubes), in view of a possible explanation 
in terms of transitional sensations, can not be regarded 
as indicating any insight”, we may add that this 
“possible explanation” must not only be rejected on 
its own account, but that in this special case it altogether 
fails. Analyzing the experiment with the double-stick, 
Lindworsky found three places where intelligence might 
possibly have operated, and he believed he could exclude 
insight from all three. We have now refuted his argu- 
ment point for point; our final consideration in regard 
to his first point having clearly shown the futility of his 
entire argument. To break up a performance into a 
number of separate, meaningless, components is an 
impossible hypothesis, when the very beginning of the 
act—the manipulation of the separate tubes in an 
appropriate way—is admittedly bound up with a 
definite apprehension of the situation. 

But our criticism has accomplished even more than 
this end; for it has secured our conception of the 
original nature of these configural functions against 
further attack. We are consequently now in a position 
to refer in passing to a problem which faced us in a 
previous chapter. If configural functions are primitive, 
we ought also to find them in those original modes of 
behaviour described as instinctive; and, indeed, so we 
do. As already noted (above p. 97), the stimuli which 

229 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


arouse instinctive action need not give rise to “simple 
sensations.” If, for instance, a spider is put to flight 
by the approach of a bee,in no matter what position 
the bee may occupy with regard to the spider’s eye, 
an explanation of this behaviour must be found in a 
very simple configural function which recurs in each 
and every one of these innumerable positions of the 
bee. The problem then is to find out what may be the 
characteristic features of these primitive configurations, 


§ 9—Biihler’s Stages of Development and the Principle 
of Configuration 


We have demonstrated that learning always involves 
some new achievement, and our discussion has dealt 
with a kind of learning which can be said to involve 
insight. But there are also many achievements at a 
much lower level of development which likewise demand 
a similar interpretation. 

Here we find ourselves again in opposition to 
Buhler; for although Buhler does not deny achieve- 
ments with true insight, he advances a theory of stages 
of development. Below the upper stage of zxéelligence, 
described as a capacity to make discoveries, he intro- 
duces a stage of training, which involves mere associative 
memory, and below this still a lower stage of zxstznct. 
Buhler believes that instinct and training each has 
its advantages and disadvantages. The advantage of 
instinct is the certainty and completeness with which 
it works the very first time it is tried. The advantage 
of training is its adaptability to special conditions of 
life. Coupled with these, however, are the disadvan- 
tages of inflexibility in the case of instinct, and of 
“inertia” in the case of training—the latter being 
shown in the fact that learning by habituation is a 
slow process. The advantages of both the lower stages 
are united, however, in learning at the highest stage 
which he calls intelligent learning #4, 

230 





BUHLER’S STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT 


Bihler’s three stages afford a valuable insight into 
the course of mental development, and, after removing 
certain blemishes, we shall find his hypothesis altogether 
acceptable. First, let us ask what relation obtains be- 
tween these three stages. It might be assumed that 
they represent three entirely distinct modes of behaviour, 
but this would signify that new functions are added to 
old ones in a manner difficult to comprehend. Despite 
all differences of opinion, the theory of associative 
learning and the theory of instinct must be intimately 
connected. At present the consensus of opinion seems 
to be that instinctive and habitual behaviour take place 
by virtue of connections between definite pathways in 
the central organs of the nervous system. These con- 
nections are regarded as fixed in the case of instinct, 
and modifiable in the case of habit; a distinction some- 
times thought of as evolutionary, so that the instincts 
are but the acquired habits of one’s ancestors.” In 
conceiving intelligence as a distinct function, Bihler 
stands more or less alone. Attempts have been made 
to reduce intelligence to the effects of association, and 
although we must deny this hypothesis too, we do, of 
course, recognize the significance of a single principle 
which would enable us to avoid the necessity of assum- 
ing three entirely heterogeneous modes of response. 
This single principle, which always plays the chief réle, 
whether it be in the explanation of instinct, habit, or 
intelligence, is for us the principle of configuration. Con- 
sequently, the behaviour itself, with its inner “closure” 
and its definite direction, becomes the essential feature 
in every explanation we shall have to offer, just as it 
has already served us in explaining the relation between 
instinct and reflex. The principle of configuration, 
which has proved its validity in explaining acts of in- 
telligence, is simply transferred to the explanation of 
lower forms of behaviour. Although this is a complete 
reversal of the usual mode of procedure which has been 
adopted in explanation of the most primitive modes of 

231 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


behaviour, the principle of configuration must not be 
given an anthropomorphic turn—as though a dog, for in- 
stance, were only a very stupid man, which would be just 
as foolish as it would be to regard man as a very clever 
dog; for only after we have worked out the common 
features in the behaviour of both dog and man, shall we 
be able to describe and define the difference between 
them. Having assumed that intelligence, habit, and 
instinct depend upon differently constructed functions 
of configuration, we shall now consider how these differ- 
ences may be conceived, and how the distinctions drawn 
by Buhler can issue therefrom. 

Let us begin with the “inertia” which Biihler attri- 
butes to habituation. How can we explain the fact 
that so-called mechanical learning requires so much 
more time than intelligent learning? Even Ruger’s 
experiments (cf. p. 174 ff.), which were very like those 
of training, indicated a descent in the time-curve only 
when a performance achieved by chance was also under- 
stood. This agrees with Kohler’s remark upon the 
choice-training of his animals: “If we attribute the 
time or the number of trials, in short, the ‘work’ done 
by the chimpanzees and hens in learning this kind of 
task, to the establishment of associative bonds (between 
a certain configuration and a reaction) our estimate of 
the essential achievement of the animals would not be 
high enough, because the chief task of the chimpanzee in 
‘ chotce-training’ ts the discovery of the precise material 
connections tnvolved in his behaviour.” 1% This inference 
is drawn from learning-curves, that is, from the distribu- 
tion of right and wrong responses. Although at the 
beginning right and wrong choices follow one another 
in a purely chance order, a change suddenly takes 
place, after which virtually no errors are made. In an 
experiment with Chica, for instance, among fifty choices 
before this change occurred, twenty-five were wrong, 
while after the change had taken place only four errors 
were made. Such behaviour, as it has also been de- 

232 


BUHLER’S STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT 


scribed in the similar experiments of Yerkes, corresponds 
throughout with the characteristic appearance of the 
true solution in the tests of intelligence. Kohler’s 
inference seems, therefore, to be justified. In addition, 
Kohler makes this further observation: “The greater 
the number of different choices Sultan had learned to 
make with a pair of objects bearing different marks, the 
quicker he would be able to master a new problem, the 
material of which was not too difficult; the same can 
be said of the other animals.” 14 

The reason habituation requires so long a time is 
that the conditions of the external surroundings, or of 
the internal organization of the animal, exclude the 
possibility of immediately apprehending the configura- 
tion. Under such conditions the act must, indeed, be 
repeated again and again in order to bring the con- 
figuration out. Instead of serving to strengthen bonds, 
the chief function of repetition is to prepare the ground 
for the construction of an appropriate figure which first 
occurs as a result of chance. After the configuration 
has once been constructed, repetition serves to make the 
behaviour appreciably firmer and easier—but not before. 

This assumption seems to agree better than any other 
with the known facts. We know, for instance, that, in 
a purely habitual achievement, like that of mechanically 
learning a series of nonsense-syllables, a “collective 
apprehension” *® is requisite, in which the several 
members are bound together in a uniform whole. 
Usually this construction of a unity occurs in the form 
of rhythmical groups, but in general what we mean to 
say is that in order to be learned the material must first 
receive some kind of figure,”° every facilitation in the 
construction of which is a facilitation of learning. 
Likewise the “moment of grasping,” which Aall finds so 
essential to memory, can be understood without difficulty 
as the learner’s application of certain familiar principles 
of configuration to his material?!7, Furthermore, the 
following interesting result was secured by A. Kihn in 

233 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


an investigation made in the psychological laboratory 
of the University of Berlin. It is a known fact that in 
learning a visually presented series of words or nonsense- 
syllables the learner never confines himself merely to 
reading the material over, but involuntarily soon begins 
to recite it. In this way he both anticipates what is to 
come, and reaches back for what has gone before. 
Whenever the observer is forbidden to employ recita- 
tion, he finds himself unable to learn the series, no matter 
how often the material is read over. Indeed, the ac- 
cumulation of mere readings in these particular experi- 
ments seemed to be harmful to retention ; for the oftener 
the material was “merely read,” the more repetitions by 
the “recitative-method” were thereafter required before 
it could be learned. The effectiveness of recitation 
rests therefore upon the fact that “zt leads to a more 
fundamental and more many-sided working-over of the 
material,”*8 Finally, K. Lewin, as a result of some 
ingenious experiments carried out in the same laboratory, 
reached the conclusion “that the learning-process can 
not be conceived as a connection between separate 


constructs.... Instead of learning ‘syllables,’ one 
learns ‘to react to a given stimulus with a definite 
response’. ... The way ts being practised which must 


be followed later in the reproduction.” *\° 

The “working-over,” and the “way ”—these terms 
are equivalent to what we have called the configuration. 
With reference to the facts revealed in processes of 
mechanical learning, we are therefore led to conclude 
that all learning requires the arousal of configural 
patterns. 

Having thus set aside, as not basic, the presupposition 
of the principle of trial and error, which is the principle 
of “frequency,” it follows that repetitions without the 
achievement of a configuration remain ineffective when- 
ever they are not positively harmful. In the broadest 
sense, practice means the formation of a figure, rather 
than the strengthening of bonds of connection. 

234 





BUHLER’S STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT 


Our conception of Bihler’s stages of development 
can also be given an adequate physiological foundation. 
Again and again in this chapter we have met with the 
difficulty involved in a physiological theory of associa- 
tion (cf.above p.157). In order to master this difficulty 
we have seen how the behaviourist has been led to reject 
the essential concept of association as a connection 
which is established by the individual in the course of 
his experience. Indeed, more than twenty years ago 
Von Kries pointed out that the arousal of associations 
can not be explained on the basis of a mere “ pathway-” 
hypothesis which assumes that nervous excitations travel 
along fixed paths. We shall set aside the question as 
to whether an assumption of innumerable innate con- 
nections can be made to overcome the difficulties involved 
in the variable nature of the associations to be established, 
for, even so, there are still other objections which Von 
Kries has brought forward against the pathway-hypo- 
thesis, and upon which Erich Becher has enlarged 
According to Von Kries the pathway-hypothesis is in- 
adequate, not only to the problem of establishing associa- 
tions, but also to the problems of “associative effects” 
and “generalizations.” With respect to the first of these 
Von Kries has particularly in mind the problem of spatial 
and temporal forms. Two lines which meet are called 
an “angle,” while each line taken by itself is only a line. 
The associative effect of the two lines is therefore not 
the sum of the associative effects of each line taken by 
itself, and this new product the pathway-hypothesis does 
not explain. Under “generalization” Von Kries refers 
to a fact of learning which we have already discussed 
with reference to instinct; namely, the psychological 
similarity, both in appearance and in effect, of pro- 
cesses which physically are quite different. Having 
once seen a figure we are still able to recognize it after 
its position, magnitude, and colour have been so greatly 
altered that different pathways must now be involved, 
and the whole process must take place in quite a different 


235 


BEHAVIOUR AND LEARNING 


manner than it did before. As a matter of fact, no 
object is ever twice reflected in the eye in exactly the 
same way. Variations of this kind are so common that 
they apply to all learning. Von Kries’s conclusion, 
which relates closely to our own, is “that in many ways 
learning can not be a matter of the development of 
pathways, which bring remote parts into connection, 
but must be something that can only be pictured as the 
formation of unified domains, facilitating the co-existence 
of various states”. In carrying out this principle 
hypothetically Von Kries refers these phenomena to 
inter-cellular activities. 

In his conception of achievement Von Kries approaches 
our position very closely ; the main difference being his 
attribution of achievement in learning to separate cells, 
the processes of which can only be conceived as co- 
existent, though they are, of course, adapted to one 
another. We, on the other hand, find the essential 
feature to rest in the state of arousal, or in the course 
taken within the whole domain which is involved. 
Becher has pointed out the untenability of any hypothesis 
which would limit these functions to a single cell, 
and concludes that no adequate physiological theory 
of memory is possible. A way out of the difficulty has, 
however, been indicated by Wertheimer’s hypothesis 
of a configurative physiological process, and in his book 
on physical configurations Kohler has recently shown 
that this hypothesis can readily be applied to our know- 
ledge of physics. Consequently, objections to a physio- 
logical theory of association no longer force upon us 
the acceptance of psycho-vitalism %, but, instead, open 
to us a new way in which association may be explained 
in terms of the physical configurations of the nervous 
system. These configurations, having already served 
us in the explanation of instinctive activity, will now 
prove of special value in clarifying the achievements of 
intelligence. From all of which it follows that instinct, 
habituation, and intelligence, instead of being three 


236 





BUHLER’S STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT 


different principles, are the expression, in different forms, 
of one and the same principle. 

The difference emphasized by Bihler between intelli- 
gence and habituation, namely, the “ inertia” of habitua- 
tion, can now readily be explained, and we shall have 
occasion to describe it at greater length in the next 
chapter. The other criterion, possessed by habituation 
and intelligence together, in contrast with instinct— 
namely, the capacity of adaptation to external conditions 
—can easily be made to conform with our hypothesis. 
The criterion mentioned in the previous chapter, which 
has to do with the difference between inflexible and 
plastic dispositions, must therefore be taken as a 
peculiarity of the configural function itself, in accordance 
with which certain configurations are so definitely deter- 
mined by conditions innate to the individual that they 
must necessarily be effective the first time they are 
called forth; whereas other configurations are not so 
definitely fixed. If and how plastic configurations arise 
will depend upon special conditions, in contrast with 
which instinctive configurations are essentially the same 
in all the individuals of a species. It is those types of 
configuration the conditions of which are less definite 
that give rise to the more pronounced individual 
differences. 


237 


CHAPTER V 
SPECIAL FEATURES OF MENTAL GROWTH 


B. THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY: THE LEARNING 
OF CHILDREN 


§ 1—The Function of Memory and tts First Appearance 


OF the two main problems of learning, we have already 
endeavoured to clarify one; namely, the problem of 
achievement. Before we proceed to consider in detail 
the acquisitions of the child, we shall take up the second 
of these essential problems, which is that of memory. 
When one speaks of memory in everyday life, one 
thinks in general of remembrance—the fact that one 
can revive past events which are no longer present by 
“imagining” them. One thinks, for example, of a 
friend who has recently died; and sees him, as it were, 
in the “ mind’s eye” ; while once again the familiar con- 
versation with him is rehearsed. The characteristic of 
this remembrance is a phenomenon to which there 
attaches an zzdex of the past. The experience we have 
imagined appears with an indication of the time at 
which it actually happened as, for instance, long ago in 
the time of our youth; but also in the same manner as 
before, and in the same spatial location—in the forest at 
N., or on the lake at Z., or somewhere in Berlin, in the 
Alps, or elsewhere. Descriptions such as these indicate 
that references to time and place can greatly vary in 
definiteness. These references may be relatively definite, 
as, for example, on the day of my examination at the 


door of the examination-room; or they may only 
238 





—— 7s - 


THE FUNCTION OF MEMORY 


approximate the time, as during my student years in 
J. But the reference is always definitely to something 
previously experienced. We speak ordinarily of remem- 
brance, however, even when these indications of time and 
place are lacking. One may not be able to remember 
Kepler’s laws, and yet be able to solve a particular 
problem. Remembering in this case means that one 
can solve the problem without necessarily remembering 
when and where he learned its laws. In short, we speak 
of remembrance when, by reason of a previous experi- 
ence, we are able to solve the problem or name the laws 
in question without first reading them up in a book. 

But remembrance is not the only way in which 
memory can lead us beyond the present; for not only 
the past, but the future, is also experienced. I see 
lightning and await thunder; I hear the bell-signal in 
the theatre and await the rise of the curtain. In ex- 
pectancy we have still a further accomplishment of 
memory. Our reason for not reversing this proposition, 
and holding that expectancy must rest upon remem- 
brance, has already been discussed in Chapter III, with 
reference to the analysis of instinctive reactions (cf. 
p. 100); and the conclusion there reached holds true 
for intelligent reactions. The configurations to which 
reference was then made included temporally extended 
patterns. When an animal drags a box below a stick 
suspended in the air, this act already implies progress 
towards the goal, in the attainment of which a stick is 
needed, although any previous experience of the sort 
may be lacking. In the first solution of such a problem 
each part-reaction is made as a member of—or with 
reference to—the solution as a whole. Perceptual ex- 
perience furnishes numerous examples of this; as, for 
instance, in hearing an entirely new melody we soon 
find ourselves expecting how it will proceed. 

But remembrance and expectancy in the forms ex- 
plained do not yet exhaust the faculty of memory. 
Thus far we have considered the function of memory 


239 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


in a certain independence of perception ; as the occasion 
for “memory-images,” or whatever one chooses to call 
the non-perceptual phenomena of memory. But still 
another and no less important function of memory is 
revealed in perception itself. I go down the street, and 
meet many strangers. Yet here is a familiar face ; there 
is my friend X; and over there is the lady who stood 
next to me yesterday in the street-car. Thus memory 
lends a character of familiarity to perceived objects, 
which again may greatly vary in definiteness from a 
mere quality of familiarity, as in the first instance above, 
to the complete assurance of the second; or again toa 
familiarity possessing either the characteristic of re- 
membrance, indicated by the lady of the street-car, or 
of expectancy. 

This perceptual accomplishment is not necessarily 
restricted to an individual cognition—or “ recognition,” 
as it is called,—for when I apprehend a rose as a rose, 
or a piece of chalk as chalk, my perceptual phenomena 
also owe a considerable part of their essential character 
to memory. In order to understand this fact one need 
but observe how in time an object such as a new piece 
of apparatus alters its appearance—one might almost 
say its physiognomy—as a result of handling it daily. 
It is an indubitable fact that memory penetrates 
throughout the entire range of our perceptions; and 
certainly this effect of memory, in contrast with the 
one previously referred to as a “memory-image,” is 
tied to the perceived object. 

But the achievements of memory are not yet at an. 
end, for hitherto we have confined ourselves to the 
inner aspects of behaviour—that is, to phenomena of 
experience—whereas objective behaviour is also shot 
through with memory. I need only refer to an ex- 
ample employed in the last chapter. If I do not drown 
when I find myself in deep water, it is because I 
learned to swim in my youth. In this case memory 
works altogether without the aid of any revived ex- 

240 





THE FUNCTION OF MEMORY 


perience ; for long before I can think to reach a decision, 
my arms and legs are already carrying out their ap- 
propriate responses. After I succeed in coming to the 
surface and have again filled my lungs with air, it may 
occur to me that this or that particular stroke would be 
useful or skilful, and thereafter I can regulate my swim- 
ming accordingly. Itisin this way that the phenomenal 
effects of memory have their influence upon motor be- 


haviour. The achievements of memory are accordingly 
threefold :— : 


i. The participation of consciousness which may 
be more or less definite ; 
ii. The relation of this consciousness to perception— 
that is, whether the “images” are free or tied ; 
iii, Certain kinds and degrees of positional and 
temporal definition, which may be altogether 
perceptual. 


With these distinctions in mind, let us consider the 
development of memory in the life of the individual. * 
At birth the infant’s behaviour shows that (i) memory- 
images participate but little; (ii) when they do they are 
tied up with perception; and (iii) are without temporal 
or spatial definition. First of all, the infant completes 
some objective act of behaviour which soon comes to 
involve a true component of learning, however slight 
may be the degree of consciousness necessary to it. 
On the phenomenal side, this achievement of memory 
indicates a quality of familiarity; and perhaps even 
earlier, a quality of strangeness. If one brings an in- 
fant into a strange room before the completion of the 
first half-year, its behaviour alters noticeably. The in- 
fant looks around the room with a wide-eyed “astonish- 
ment,” which disappears as soon as the child is returned 
to its usual surroundings. The effect of the memory of 
its usual surroundings is indicated here by an impression 
of strangeness; but the basis for this impression must 
already have existed, because its memory would have 


241 Q 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


been the same had it never been taken into a strange 
room. How is this effect of memory to be understood ? 
Perhaps the best answer has already been found in the 
distinction drawn between the “background” and the 
“quality” of primitive phenomena. The effect of 
memory derived from accustomed surroundings will 
then be this: that the “background” of consciousness 
acquires the peculiar character of a relatively fixed level 
upon which separate phenomena make their appearance. 
“ Astonishment” follows, therefore, whenever this level 
is altered. The conception of the /evel is of such con- 
siderable importance in psychology, that it is always a 
matter of interest whether a change of environment in- 
volves the level or the qualities which emerge therefrom. 

Within the first six months of a child’s life one can 
also observe signs of smiling when the infant sees its 
mother or some other familiar person; and, on the 
other hand, signs of avoidance and displeasure when 
the infant is brought in contact with strangers. Here 
the participation of consciousness is apparently greater ; 
because, on the one hand, the response is no longer 
determined by the background alone, and, on the other 
hand, a negative reaction to strangers is opposed toa 
positive reaction to persons with whom the child is 
familiar. 

The next step, I should say, is one that adds to the 
character of familiarity a temporal definition which it 
did not previously possess—this being an expectation 
directed towards the future. Stern insists** that a 
reference to the future takes place earlier than a refer- 
ence to the past; but I think he infers the independence 
of memory from perception too easily when he calls 
these first expectations “ideas.” Let us take an ex- 
ample. Stern’s daughter Hilda, as early as the age of 
five months, put out her lips when the spoon with which 
she was fed was offered to her; although at first it 
had been very difficult to accustom the child to eat 
with a spoon. Instead of speaking of images of ex- 

242 


——— ere 


ie 


oe, 


3 
7 
a 
a 
1 
: 





THE FUNCTION OF MEMORY 


pectancy, this behaviour should, I think, be described 
as follows: The child had learned to comprehend the 
process of feeding as a configuration in which the spoon 
played its definite part as a “transitional phenomenon.” 
That is to say, the spoon as a phenomenon contained 
within itself a characteristic which carried beyond itself, 
just as a dark cloud appears not only black, but 
“threatening,” without our having actually to imagine 
the oncoming thunderstorm, 

Expectation, as a consciousness that something is 
missing, has as little need of “free” imagery as have 
the corresponding phenomena of familiarity and strange- 
ness. Miss Shinn reports of her niece at three months 
that “she was much interested in a guest, a lively girl, 
and not only followed her movements, but would look 
for her when out of sight (89th day).” Stern con- 
cludes from this that the impression must have lingered 
afterward in the fainter form of an image”, but I doubt 
it. In view of the very early age at which this observa- 
tion was made, the existence of images, or phenomena 
independent of perception, seems to me very im- 
probable. A more adequate description, I think, would 
be that a very vivid situation suddenly disappears 
and in its place there comes another which has as its 
chief phenomenal characteristic, a “blank,” or a “lack 
of completeness.” 

It is not at all certain when the first “free” images 
are employed. Remembrance unquestionably occurs 
at the beginning of the second year, and with it the 
first definite relationship to the past. But whether 
remembrance is at first connected with perception, as 
seems to me probable, can not be decided from the 
factual data at hand.** It is equally difficult to decide 
whether the first “free” images are images of ex- 
pectancy. Certainly the first references to the past are 
extremely indefinite and become definite very slowly ; 
so that even for a four-year-old child a definite re- 
membrance of yesterday is difficult, and one of the day 

243 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


before yesterday, impossible. At this age there exists 
a vague impression of happenings long past, likewise a 
rough distinction between before and after, and occa- 
sionally one between to-day and not to-day. The 
characteristic of place is better developed than the 
characteristic of time—“that was in Berlin”—*“that 
was in London,” etc. All remembrances are, indeed, 
members of larger complexes, and they carry their 
membership characteristics along with them. 

Images without temporal and spatial relations, such 
as we use to aid us in our thinking, might be expected 
to occur very late in the course of development. I 
prefer not to consider the so-called “images of fantasy ” 
in this connection. When a child understands a story 
and relates it—and the story-age begins with the fourth 
year *’_the images that occur can scarcely be called 
non-temporal, because their employment is hardly 
different from that of images referring to the child’s 
own distant past. These images of fantasy, however, 
mark progress to the extent that instead of going back 
to individual experiences, they are first called into being 
by a story; otherwise they seem very like memory- 
images in their nature. 

The memory of children also develops so as gradually 
to span ever-increasing periods of time. This subject 
has been thoroughly investigated by Clara and William 
Stern, who find that progress is shown in recognition 
as well as in what may more precisely be called re- 
membrance. Recognition has precedence, thus disclos- 
ing the fact that it is a more primitive type of behaviour 
than remembrance “%. Furthermore, it has been shown 
that the motives for remembrance undergo development ; 
for at first remembrance attaches to perception, and 
only later to “images.” In the beginning the child is 
passive with respect to his remembrances, but gradu- 
ally he learns to control them so that voluntarily, or 
upon being questioned, he can recall to mind definite 
events ™, 


244 





THE FUNCTION OF MEMORY 


Reference should be made finally to a peculiarity of 
youthful memory which Jaensch and his students have 
made the occasion for an extensive series of valuable 
studies **°, Youth often shows a capacity for a visual 
and also, though less often, for an auditory type of 
image, which is unique in quality, in as much as a 
sensory impression can be voluntarily reproduced with 
full sensory clearness after a shorter or a longer period 
of time. Among 205 boys, ranging from ten to fifteen 
years of age, this capacity was indicated in 76, or 37 
per cent. At what age this “eidetic” disposition, as 
Jaensch calls it, appears we do not yet know, but the 
investigations thus far made lead us to think that 
appropriate experiments can be undertaken successfully 
with very young children. Among the many different 
results Jaensch has secured, we shall mention but a 
few. Even “sense-memory does not retain the material 
presented without a selection having taken place. The 
achievement in this respect is not dependent, for instance, 
merely upon the frequency of presentation and the in- 
sistency of the object, but rather upon a selection which 
is directed from a definite point of view.” One of these 
“points of view” is that of odjectzvity, which in many 
individuals is so strong “that in the investigation of 
colours we must give up the usual expedients of scientific 
optics, and rely rather upon such things as flowers for 
our stimuli; because these, rather than homogeneous 
papers of the same colour, give rise to the most definite 
images” ***, Furthermore, it appears in these experi- 
ments that the perceptions of eidetic individuals may 
be influenced in a manner interpreted by Jaensch and 
his followers as a fusion of the perception with the 
eidetic image. Yet even when there is no fusion of the 
two, when the perceptual and the imaginal objects are 
separately distinguishable, a reciprocal influence of an 
assimilative sort takes place which is the greater the 
more similar the perception and the image are to one 
another *, 


245 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


§ 2—The Laws of Memory 


Since we have denied that association operates as an 
external bond between independent parts, we can no 
longer accept the law of association as it is usually 
stated: namely, that if the phenomena A, B, C,... 
enter consciousness several times together or in im- 
mediate succession, and one of them appears thereafter 
alone, it brings with it a tendency to reproduce the 
others; special laws being derived which regulate the 
strength of the tendencies which lead from one factor 
to another in the association. We now find it necessary 
to restate this law so that it may read somewhat as 
follows: If the phenomena A, B, and C .. . have been 
present once or oftener as tnembers of a configuration, 


and if one of these reappears while still possessed of its © 


“membership - character,” it will have a tendency to 
supplement itself more or less definitely and completely 
with the remainder of the total configuration. What is 
meant by the limitation of “membership - character” 
relative to reappearance can be made clear by the follow- 
ing example: Suppose one were asked to name a tree 
which begins with “will,” and should answer “ willow.” 
This would be quite easy. However, if the membership- 
character of this syllable “will” as the beginning of a 
word were lacking, and we were reminded instead of a 
single monosyllabic word, it might be difficult to proceed 
from the word “ will,” to the word “ willow.” 

But reproduction can also take place in quite a 
different manner. In our example “ willow” may result, 
not only because “will” as an initial syllable supple- 
ments itself to form a complete word, but also because 
an attempt is being made to construct a word out of 
“will” in accordance with some appropriate form of the 
language. Here again reproduction occurs in such a 
way that the total configuration is produced from the 
initial member. It is therefore unnecessary that the 
completed form which is produced should have been 


246 





ee a a ee 


THE LAWS OF MEMORY 


previously experienced. It is precisely in this way that 
many “false” constructions appear in a child’s speech, 
which do not belong to the language at all, and which 
the child has never before heard. These “words” are 
freely formed by the child in accordance with certain 
principles of construction with which he is familiar. 
From the mass of material upon this subject which the 
Sterns have collected, we may select the following 
examples: Hilda Stern, 3°83—vergurtelt=to fasten with 
the aid of a girdle; the same child, 3°9— metern =to 
measure with the aid of centimetre stick; Gertrude 
Stern, 3°10 — maschiner = a locomotive engineer; the 
same child, 4°4 — dzeben=to steal; S.S., 2°6 —es glockt 
= the bells ring *°. 

This kind of reproduction, which has even less in 
common with the older form of association than the 
first which we mentioned, is very important in the 
development and: progress of thinking. It may also 
be remarked that Otto Selz has stated the law of 
reproduction in a manner similar to the one we have 
adopted. In the experiments which he carried out, as 
well as on the basis of other well-known facts, Selz has 
shown that an explanation in terms of the “ constella- 
tion” of numerous independent associations is entirely 
inadequate to the facts **4. 

The older doctrine of association embraced not only 
the law of association, but also reproduction by szmzlar- 
tty. To be sure, one often spoke of association by 
similarity, along with association by contiguity, but 
association then referred to the process of recall rather 
than to the bond established between ideas. Since the 
term reproduction has been introduced, one should no 
longer speak of association by similarity; because the 
principle maintains that an idea A can reproduce an idea 
A}, without a previous connection, provided that A! and 
A are sufficiently similar. And hence this principle does 
not rightfully belong to the theory of association, because 
similarity is not an external but an internal material con- 


247 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


nection ; consequently a law which replaces all internal 
connections by bonds which are merely external would 
here be violated. Consequently, there has been no 
dearth of attempts to exclude reproduction by similarity 
altogether from the explanation in reducing everything 
to association by contiguity. The facts, however, do 
not warrant this procedure, and L. Schliter ° working 
at G6ttingen under the direction of G. E. Miller—one 
of the chief representatives of the psychology of associa- 
tion—has recently found additional proof of the existence 
of effects which must be attributed to similarity. In 
addition, the work of Rosa Heine *° in the same labora- 
tory shows that recognition can not be explained in 
terms of mere “bonds” of association. Indeed, it has 
been thought for a long time that some connection 
must exist between recognition and reproduction by 
similarity, and I myself have considered both achieve- 
ments as special cases under a more general law **”, 

It is very difficult to explain these facts by the theory 
of association, and especially by reference to its physio- 
logical frame-work. We have already seen that other 
results attributable to similarity have been made the 
chief objection to the theory of association by Von 
Kries. On the other hand, a theory based on “con- 
figurations” encounters less difficulty because “similar 
configurations” are also found in physics; and the law 
of similarity need only mean that configurations once 
present will furnish conditions favourable to the appear- 
ance of others like or similar to them. 

We are therefore led to characterize the chief facts 
of memory as follows: When a new configuration arises 
under fixed objective conditions, this behaviour of the 
organism is somehow preserved. Upon repeating the 
objective conditions, the configuration will accordingly 
arise much easier and much swifter than it did the first 
time. It will also return when the external conditions 
change and are no longer so favourable as they were at 
first, even though the conditions are so incomplete that 


248 








MOTOR LEARNING 


they would of themselves give rise only to a part of the 
whole configuration. 


§ 3—Motor Learning: The Parts Played by Maturation 
and Learning in Walking 


Having cleared up some of the preliminary, theo- 
retical, questions, we may now consider the development 
of the child himself, taking our examples from the four 
directions differentiated at the beginning of the preced- 
ing chapter (cf. p. 143). 

We shall not repeat what we have said in general 
about the learning of movements (p. 145), but begin 
with the concrete instance of learning to walk. The 
first attempt at walking, and the first success in walking 
alone, are subject to great variation in the time of their 
appearance. The eighth month is usually early and 
the fourth half-year very late for beginning to walk. 
One says that a child /earns to walk and, of course, he 
does learn many things in the course of his varied 
attempts at walking. But does he actually learn wadk- 
ing? If a child, ready to make his first attempt to 
walk, were hindered for a few weeks, as James has 
proposed, would he at the end of this time, when at last 
permitted to make the attempt, behave as clumsily as 
he does when he is not so hindered? It is highly im- 
probable that he would; although the psychologically 
interested widower, upon whom James set his hopes 
that this experiment might be tried, has not yet been 
found. Superiority at the later date would then depend 
solely upon maturation, and the clumsiness of the child’s 
first attempts must therefore in part be due to the fact 
that the centres from which the movements of walking 
are controlled, have not yet fully developed. Awkward- 
ness also results from the as-yet insufficient development 
of bones and muscles. Walking seems, therefore, to be 
an inherited type of behaviour; a conclusion which 
agrees with the fact that birds, too, are able to fly safely 

249 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


and fairly well when first they leave the nest. To be 
sure, the act becomes more complete with practice, and 
we should hardly maintain that a child who, without 
injury to his muscles, were prevented from walking up 
to his sixth year, could then upon his first attempt run 
as well as his companions of the same age. But this in 
no wise leads us to assume that walking is altogether 
a matter of learning; for maturation itself requires a 
stimulation which can only be had through the activity 
of the parts which are maturing. 

The facts in the case are indicated by an investigation 
of Breed on the development of pecking among chickens. 
If one understands by pecking the entire process of 
food-taking—the striking, seizing, and swallowing of 
food—a marked development in this complicated 
activity seems to go on during the first days after 
hatching. Beginning with the second day small grain 
was presented to the chicks, and from day to day it 
was carefully observed how many attempts at pecking 
were successful. Among fifty such experiments in one 
group of chicks, the average of successful attempts was 
as follows: In the first-day trials, 10.3; in the second, 
28.3; in the third, 30; in the sixth, 38.3; and in the 
fifteenth, 43.2. For comparison other chicks were tested 
which had been artificially fed for several days and then 
allowed to peck their food for the first time. The result 
was that although their performances at the start were 
no better than the performances of the control-group, 
improvement followed much more rapidly. One chick 
which began its pecking four days after the normal 
group, exceeded their performance on the next day. 
From these results it would seem that maturation with- 
out stimulation can accomplish very little; yet I believe 
that a large part of the improvement must still be 
attributed to this source, in as much as all the chicks 
were about equally efficient after the sixth day, although 
individually they varied greatly in the amount of practice 
they had had. In order to be effective, however, 

250 





GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


maturation requires stimulation through the functioning 
of the act itself °°, 

That in learning to walk there is still something 
actually to be learned, is clearly indicated by an observa- 
tion of Binet, who found that the older and weaker of 
two sisters—a first child—walked alone at an earlier age 
than the younger child ; the reason being that the older 
one gave her whole attention to the matter; carefully 
choosing her objects of direction, and then proceeding 
to march with the greatest seriousness from one object 
to another. The younger child, on the other hand, was 
very vivacious, and would strike out without considering 
or attending to what she was doing**. This observation 
upon the influence of attention on learning to walk 
indicates that something was actually being learned, 
although we do not know precisely what. We may 
assume, however, that it was less the movements of 
walking themselves, than the inclination towards the 
goal, and the adaptation of means to this end. 


§ 4—Continuation: Grasping and Touching ; 
Motor Configurations 


Movement-complexes of grasping and touching, which 
we shall now undertake to consider, are learned even 
earlier than walking. Exact observations upon the 
development of this behaviour have been made by 
Preyer, by Miss Shinn, and more recently by Watson ™®. 
The development takes a very complicated course and 
passes through numerous stages. The original touch- 
organ of the suckling is not the hand, but the mouth. 
After the fourth week, everything that comes to the 
mouth is not only sucked, but worked over with the lips 
and tongue. This behaviour is no longer directly con- 
nected with the taking of nourishment ; for if one places 
his cheek to the mouth of a suckling, the child if hungry 
will begin to suck ; otherwise he will lick the cheek with 
his tongue, 

251 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


Touching with the mouth assumes a growing im- 
portance until all kinds of things are brought to the 
mouth by the hand. But this development does not 
take place all at once. A stage precedes at which the 
suckling brings only its hands to its mouth (according 
to Miss Shinn this stage begins with the third month). 
It is interesting to note that at first this movement is 
not carried out by the hands alone; but as the hand is 
raised, the head is also lowered, so that the movement 
is visibly one of bringing hand and mouth together. 
The child is not carrying out certain definite hand- and 
arm-movements, but is merely uniting hand and mouth. 
From Watson’s experiments it would seem that an 
essential component of this early behaviour still per- 
sists after the child is able to bring other objects than 
his own hands to the mouth. Watson reports that on 
the 1oIst day a baby raised a stick of candy that had 
been placed in her hand and poked it far back into her 
throat, which seems to indicate that the behaviour was 
completed only after the fingers had touched the mouth, 
rather than by the contact of the candy with lips and 
tongue. 

The advent of grasping with the hand was observed 
by Miss Shinn during the twelfth week. If by chance 
an object came in contact with the hand it would be 
grasped and lifted, and then, after a time, let fall again. 
It was also observed that the mode of grasping depended 
upon the position of the hand with reference to the 
object touched. The eyes seemed to play no special 
part in this behaviour; for the child neither looked 
towards the object touched, nor towards her hands. 
At first the development of this behaviour seemed to 
be purely a matter of touch; though in the course of 
these movements, objects held in the hand frequently 
came by chance in the neighbourhood of the mouth. 
On the 86th day, Miss Shinn’s niece tried for the first 
time to put a rattle into her mouth. On the next day ~ 
this attempt was continued, the rattle being first raised 

252 





GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


to any place on the face and then directed toward the 
mouth. After reaching the mouth, the rattle was then 
sucked in. It was noticeable, however, that the child 
could put her thumb in her mouth much more readily 
than she could the rattle. And yet almost three weeks 
earlier, upon her 48th day, a pencil which had been 
placed in her hand was carried six times to her mouth 
and energetically sucked by lips and tongue. From 
then until the 86th day, however, the child made not 
the slightest attempt to repeat this behaviour. Mention 
is made of this fact because anticepations of acts at a 
very early date, which only later are performed with 
facility, are a common characteristic of the development 
of young children, and are also of the greatest interest. 

The achievements described are slowly perfected. 
The head also co-operates at the beginning; for in- 
stance, if the rattle chances to hit the nose, instead of 
lowering the hand, the head is raised to bring it to the 
mouth. Yet the act always begins with a chance- 
contact of the object with the hand. If both hands 
happen to be touched, both are employed in raising 
the object, although this does not imply any true 
co-operation of the two hands; for if the two hands 
themselves chance to come into contact with one 
another, the one will be grasped and conducted by 
the other to the mouth. 

After the 99th day the participation of vision in 
grasping was observed for the first time. Miss Shinn’s 
niece then glanced down at the object while she was 
grasping it. In contrast, the direction of gaze toward 
a sound takes place at a much earlier date. As early 
as the 45th and 57th days, Miss Shinn reports her 
niece as looking around towards the keyboard of a 
piano which was being played; but it was not until 
the 87th day that she glanced at the rattle which she 
already held in her hand, and whether the sense of 
contact was the occasion for this direction of her gaze 
remained uncertain. Apparently the gaze is directed 


253 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


much earlier by the ear than it is by the hand; pro- 
vided Miss Shinn’s observation is not susceptible of 
quite a different interpretation, which we have pre- 
viously suggested (cf. p. 83). At a still later date, 
the eye begins to direct grasping ; a long period ensues 
in which the eye confines itself to looking at the hands 
or at the object grasped, and the development of the 
behaviour of grasping something seen is very gradual. 
On the 113th day, Miss Shinn’s niece looked at her 
mother’s out-stretched hand, and with her gaze thus 
directed made awkward movements with her own hand 
until the mother’s hand was touched, grasped, and 
conducted to the child’s mouth. How important the 
mouth is in this whole course of behaviour, is shown 
by Preyer’s relevant ebservation at this same stage of 
development: namely, that the mouth would be opened 
before, or immediately after, the object was grasped— 
an observation since confirmed by Watson. In this 
way grasping after something seen is for a long time 
the first stage of an undertaking to bring a seen-object 
to the mouth. This stage continues for a long time 
with a characteristic awkwardness and lack of adapta- 
bility. The fingers, for instance, will be spread out in 
no position for grasping ; the position being taken only 
after contact. During the hand-movements, the gaze 
is directed fixedly upon the object. In a certain sense 
there recurs in this part of the act the same type of 
behaviour which has already taken place in the simpler 
endeavour to introduce a felt-thing into the mouth; 
though now the act is concerned with the adjustment 
of the object to the hand, rather than to the mouth. 
Even after this behaviour has been practised, touch 
by the hand must still be substituted for touch by the 
mouth. At the age of seven months, Miss Shinn’s 
niece played with an object for the first time without 
carrying it to her mouth, but such behaviour was rare 
up to the end of her eighth month, and even far into 
the second year objects were occasionally brought to 


254 





GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


the mouth. Artificial means must be employed with 
many children even as late as the third year in order 
to wean them from this habit, especially if it be thumb- 
sucking. The direction of the hand by touch is attained 
very slowly—much more slowly than direction by 
grasping, 

Taking this phase of development as a whole, it 
appears that a relatively complicated behaviour arises 
out of much simpler activities. And yet we are unable 
to agree with Preyer’s statement that learning con- 
sists in nothing else than a partial isolation and re- 
combination of already existing movements; or in 
other words that learning is only a matter of training 
as this term is commonly understood.  Biihler, for 
instance, regards learning to grasp as being entirely 
dependent upon training. We now see why it has 
been necessary to indulge in such a long theoretical 
argument as to the nature of this form of learning ; for, 
writes Biihler, “the entire acquisition of innumerable 
manipulations and activities which the child learns to 
master in his early youth are executed in accordance 
with this principle of training, beginning with positional 
movements of creeping and walking, passing through 
the stage of grasping-movements, and culminating in 
the technical and artistic performances which constitute 
training in the narrower sense of the term” *#1, 

On the other hand, Biihler points also to the simi- 
larity between grasping and gazing; for he tells us 
that just “as the eye-movements which bring the image 
into the clearest field of vision are released reflexly by 
means of peripheral light-stimuli, so the arm-movements 
which bring the object to the mouth as the place of 
most sensitive touch, are released by means of the 
pressure sensations of the skin”. This statement 
refers to a stage of development in which seeing does 
not yet participate in grasping, and Biihler’s explana- 
tion is given in terms of the formation of bonds between 
the pressure sensations of the hand and the kinesthetic 


255 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


sensations of bending the arm. But we have already 
rejected this hypothesis in the case of eye-movements 
of fixation, and have replaced it with another. Can we 
do the same with reference to the development of 
grasping and manipulation ? 

Quite apart from the general considerations of the 
previous chapter, there are, in fact, a series of data 
which contradict explanations based upon bonds of 
connection. In the first place, the same objection can 
be raised against this hypothesis that has already been 
raised against the similar hypothesis in the case of 
visual fixation: namely, that the number of connections 
would need to be enormous. The hypothesis takes its 
departure from the fact that an individual has learned 
to attain a certain result by movements which are 
explained in terms of connections, without first demon- 
strating that all the connections necessary for such an 
explanation actually exist. Von Kries attacks the 
hypothesis on these grounds*”. Taking writing as 
an example, he points out that the innervation of the 
muscles required in writing even a portion of a letter 
involve the greatest variability, according as we write 
large or small letters, quickly or slowly, energetically 
or easily, with this or that position of the arm, to the 
right or to the left, above or below on the paper. Von 
Kries also finds in this variability a decided objection 
to the “pathway-hypothesis.” Furthermore, how can 
this theory of bonds explain the “anticipations” already 
referred to (p. 253)? An infant was observed to place 
a pencil in its mouth correctly, six times. This, to be 
sure, might be explained by bonds of connection between 
the several movements, provided we assume that the act 
started each time with the same position of thearm. It 
might, therefore, be said that this sequence of acts 
occurred first of all by chance, and was retained during 
the brief period of time in which the performances were 
being repeated. But this description is contradicted by 
Miss Shinn **, who reports ae after placing the pencil 

25 





GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


in the resting hand of the child, “the hand closed on 
it at once (the thumb correctly reversed) and carried 
the pencil to the mouth. I had no idea that this could 
be more than an accident, but pushed the hand away 
from the neighbourhood of the face, lest the pencil-point 
should do harm in some aimless movement. To my 
surprise, the baby szx ¢zmes carried the pencil directly 
back as I pushed it away, and as she did so she put out 
her lips and tongue toward it eagerly, with sucking 
motions, much as when about to be put to the breast.” 
This is the description of a good observer, and from it 
one must conclude that the same movement was not 
repeated each time in any such manner as would allow 
the same connections to function again and again. On 
the contrary, the behaviour was of a kind that would 
attain the same result each time it was repeated. Indeed, 
the process appears to be entirely embedded in an 
instinctive mode of behaviour ; for the child put out her 
lips and tongue toward the pencil with the same sucking 
movements that followed when she was about to be put 
to the breast. 

Reserving this observation of Miss Shinn’s for further 
consideration at a later time, let us consider another 
argument against the hypothesis based on bonds of con- 
nection, The hypothesis maintains that a movement 
originally carried out instinctively, or in any other way, 
enters as such into a subsequent performance which is 
being learned. Regarded as a movement, any unit must 
remain the same afterwards that it was before being in- 
corporated into a subsequent process of learning, which 
presupposes that the course of behaviour is made up of 
separate and isolated parts, a presupposition which has 
its exact analogy in the sensory domain, where per- 
ceptions have been likewise conceived as a number 
of separable sensations. Our theory of configuration 
supplants this view, against which we shall have still 
further proofs to bring in this chapter. It may therefore 
be noted at once that an hypothesis which has failed to 

257 R 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


satisfy our needs in the sensory field, can hardly be 
expected to agree with the facts adduced in the case of 
movement. 

If a young baby imitates the movement of an adult 
by carrying out an action, which he is otherwise able to 
do spontaneously or instinctively, the imitative action is 
found to differ from the similarly constituted spontaneous 
action by a marked degree of awkwardness. Compayré 
notes this difference™*, and the Sterns report of their 
daughter, that “if one says to the child when she is well 
disposed, ‘erre, erre, these syllables which she other- 
wise utters involuntarily and easily, will be repeated, but 
only after an apparent effort, which often lasts several 
seconds” **°, This difficulty can not be explained in 
terms of piecing part-movements together; for if that 
were the case the action ought to occur quite independent 
both of the result and of the total situation. 

In America numerous experiments have been under- 
taken to study the learning of new acts ; such as throwing 
a ball at a target; striking at a punching-bag; writing 
on a typewriter, or a somewhat more simplified act of 
the same order. Tests have also been made of writing 
under difficult conditions, as with the left hand, or so 
that one’s own writing is only visible in a mirror. The 
results of all these investigations indicate, as noted in 
the previous chapter, that the learning of a certain type 
of movement is not simply a motor affair, but that 
sensory components are absolutely essential to it. A 
further and generally confirmed result is the following: 
The more strictly motor a task is, the less has conscious- 
ness to do with learning it, and the more must the 
learner be directed upon the result, rather than upon the 
activity itself. Whenever one throws a ball at a target 
and gives attention to the throwing rather than to the 
target one is quite sure to miss the mark”, 

In learning more complicated movements, as for 
instance, writing ten words always in the same order 
on a typewriter, the course of learning is as follows: In 


258 





: 
; 


GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


the beginning each letter is sought and written for 
itself, that is to say,a mode of perception which we may 
call seeking becomes the centre of the whole action. This 
complicated process alters as superfluous movements are 
eliminated ; but, above all else, as the act is learned a 
complex unity supersedes an unconnected mass of par- 
ticulars™*, In this unification a “movement-melody ” 
composes itself. The visual search for single letters 
disappears and attention is thereafter directed only upon 
the entire course of the procedure. Indeed, any special 
consideration of details always introduces difficulties, 
How far the visual aspect of learning may disappear is 
shown in an example given by Betz, who had acquired 
a considerable practice in typewriting, and always used 
the same machine. Once, however, when he tried to 
see if he could write down from memory the picture of 
the key-board of his machine, his attempt was a failure. 
Not only had he the greatest difficulty in reaching any 
decision at all as to the appearance of the keys, but 
although in writing he never looked at the key-board, 
he made many gross errors in reproducing the order of 
the letters. In doing what we are accustomed to do, we 
are aware only of the errors we commit; then the wrong 
movements spring forth “as not belonging to the 
melody.” 

If we ask further how a movement-melody can develop 
out of a summation of movements, the answer is that 
it does so of itself whenever attention is rightly directed 
upon the goal, which is an object of the outer world. 
Thus the movements constantly vary in the direction 
of a better formation, which is achieved in a manner 
similar to the achievements in efficiency described in 
Ruger’s experiments. Although in Ruger’s experiments 
improvement in learning was effective only when it was 
understood, here the case is different, at least in so far 
as the finer adaptations are concerned; for although 
these adaptations may occasionally be reflected in con- 
sciousness, this has no influence upon the efficiency 


259 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


of learning, and to direct attention upon them only 
disturbs the performance. As early as 1889, Miller and 
Schumann found that a movement-melody (they called 
it a “motor adaptation”) can be composed without the 
participation either of volition or knowledge. Ordahl 
has since shown that attention is influential even in 
learning very simple movement-melodies*®. If one 
lifts many times in rhythmical succession a lighter and 
a heavier weight, a motor adaptation is gradually built 
up, in as much as the lifting of the pair of weights 
becomes a process in which the lighter weight is followed 
by a more energetic lift, so that the two liftings taken 
together have an iambic rhythmical character. The 
existence of this motor adaptation was proved by tests 
made after the practice-experiments were over, in which 
the normal weight was paired with other weights within 
the same range of heaviness. On account of his motor 
adaptation, the observer found that if he lifted two equa! 
weights, the second seemed much too light; and only 
after it had been made considerably heavier than the 
first weight, did the two appear to be equal. The 
observer, of course, knew nothing of this adaptation, 
which nevertheless made the second impulse to lift so 
much more forcible than the first that the corresponding 
weight seemed to be much too light. 

Two different methods of arousing motor adaptation 
were tested by Ordahl. In one the observer’s attention 
was distracted from the practice of lifting the two weights 
—one of which was twice as heavy as the other—by 
reading to him an interesting story, the content of which 
he was afterwards required to relate accurately. Asa 
complementary experiment the observer’s attention 
was directed upon the weights. In the practice-tests a 
weight twice as heavy was employed as the second 
member of the pair, and also two slightly heavier and 
two slightly lighter weights. The observer was then 
called upon to decide in each case whether the second 


weight was twice as heavy = the first, or more or less 
200 





4 
J 
| 
| 


GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


heavy. Under these conditions the adaptation was, in 
fact, notably stronger than under the conditions of the 
distraction-experiment. We may also recall, in this 
connection, Binet’s observation that attention contributes 
its part to a child’s effort in learning to walk (see 
above, p. 251). 

Taking these results together, our conclusion seems 
to be that in learning a more or less complicated move- 
ment a movement-melody must be composed; that is 
to say, a formation after the manner of our “configura- 
tion” takes place which does not consist of independent 
parts, but is an articulate whole. The motor adaptation 
itself, which is explained by its discoverers in quite a 
different way—namely by association—is nevertheless 
in evidence as to the correctness of our assumption. 
Consequently, a motor adaptation arising under the 
conditions of a strictly rhythmical lifting of weights, 
regulated by the beats of a metronome, presupposes a 
configuration for the same reason that it has been found 
impossible to learn nonsense-syllables without construct- 
ing them into a configural complex. The relation of 
motor to sensory learning is also indicated by the fact 
that many of the laws of sensory learning have been 
found applicable to motor adaptations, especially in the 
experiments of Lottie Steffens—a pupil of Miiller—and 
hence it can not be supposed that motor and sensory 
learning are derived from two quite different sources. 
The improvement in a performance ought therefore 
to consist in the construction of better and more com- 
plete configurations. Certainly such an improvement 
is not an intelligent performance. To know before- 
hand how we must perform the act avails us nothing ; 
for these configurations do not originate as “ intelligent” 
configurations do. Their seat must chiefly lie in other 
centres. And yet some connection must exist between 
them and the centres of those processes which are 
accompanied by a high degree of consciousness. In 


beginning to learn, the phenomena of perception must 
261 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


be present and the learner must have a fixed purpose. 
The configurative formation is then influenced by 
these components. Practice, or continual repetition, is 
requisite, and it is very apparent that repetition con- 
tributes essentially to the fixation of the behaviour. 
One has only to think how a musical virtuoso has to 
practice in order that his “fingers may not rust.” It 
is equally apparent that repetition has still another 
object; since it must create conditions favourable to 
the arousal of the new configuration, In learning by 
repetition, the concept of chance—in the sense in which 
it is used in the theory of trial and error—will not 
suffice. Chance may help, but it seems to me extremely 
doubtful if each new advance is really haphazard ; 
especially when one considers how “wise” are the 
nervous centres which have nothing to do with con- 
sciousness, and how promptly and exactly they function 
in the face of sudden danger. 

But a closer argument in support of this point of view 
would lead us too far. It is enough to note that new 
configurations are also attributable to these lower centres; 
as is demonstrated by the fact that the practice-curve 
improves by leaps which occur in learning new move- 
ments, as well as on the “good day” which Ruger 
speaks of; furthermore the influence of a “good day” 
is likewise felt in intelligent behaviour; the most diffi- 
cult problems requiring intelligence being solved only 
under these conditions (see above p. 202), 

Finally, it appears from the observations of Kéhler 
that “a correlation exists between the intelligence and 
the manual skill of the chimpanzee” *!; a fact which 
would be very singular if a relationship did not exist 
between these two kinds of behaviour. Intelligence 
and dexterity are also both subject to great individual 
variations. The construction of a “motor configuration” 
is specifically differentiated from an act of intelligence, 
chiefly in that a projection of the configuration prior to 
its performance is espe In this respect a motor 

202 





ee ee 


GRASPING AND TOUCHING 


pattern resembles the construction of a configuration in 
what is called “training,” though it may far surpass the 
results of training in its refinement and precision. Acts 
of skill are often referred to as achievements of training, 
and there can be no objection to this description so 
long as one conceives training as we have done without 
mechanistic implications. 

Returning to the child’s learning to grasp and to 
touch, these are also acquisitions of new configurations, 
and indeed all behaviour in which sensory and motor 
components work together is closely related to the 
experiments we have described. We can now explain 
anticipations. The configuration takes place when the 
objective conditions happen to be unusually favourable, 
and since these conditions do not repeat themselves, 
the configuration can only reappear when a change in 
the internal conditions has taken place; in which event 
the external conditions may be even less favourable 
than they were upon the first occasion. This statement 
will also account for “anticipations” such as those 
described above in connection with Kohler’s experi- 
ments upon intelligence (see p. 195). 

The question now arises: How far are we here con- 
cerned with true learning, and how far with mere 
maturation? Since the behaviour of grasping and 
touching is acquired by every normal child, these 
achievements must somehow be foreshadowed in the 
child’s predisposition. Preyer and Shinn both call 
grasping an instinctive act, but we now see how diffi- 
cult it is to draw a strict line of differentiation between 
innate and acquired activities because the boundaries are 
not absolutely fixed. Individual experience and the 
special behaviour to which each individual is subjected, 
each plays an important rélein grasping ; yet the transi- 
tion between maturation and learning is explicable only 
when maturation and learning both lead to the same 
end, which is the formation of new configurations *, 


263 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


§ 5—Sensory Learning: The Development of 
Colour- Vision 


With the aid of a few significant examples we shall 
now try to follow the course of development in the per- 
ception of the child, in order to see how a picture of the 
world as we know it gradually arises out of the primitive 
and diffuse configurations of early experience. It isa 
truism to us adults that our perceptual world is the 
sum-total of our experiences. The question is: How 
has experience brought this about? We must not 
forget, for instance, that the problem of experience 
involves achtevements as well as memory, and further- 
more, that the possibility of components attributable to 
maturation must always be kept in mind. 

We shall begin with the investigation of colour- 
perception, in which great pains have been taken to 
accumulate a wealth of interesting results of great 
importance for a general theory of colour-vision. A 
large number of methods have been thought out in 
these investigations; some depending entirely upon 
speech, while others are more or less free of linguistic 
aid, and can therefore be applied at an early age prior 
to the development of speech. 


A. Methods involving Language 


1. The Word-Sign-Method: two colours are placed 
before the child and named for him. He is then asked 
to point to red, to yellow, etc. When the names of two 
colours have been learned, a third is added, and so on. 

2. The Naming-Method: (a) as directed by the in- 
vestigator, in which the child is shown separate colours 
to which he responds with their names; (4) as sfon- 
taneous, in which the child selects colours from a box 
and names them himself. 

3. The Symbolic Method: the child is told a story, a 
definite colour being shown him for each of the persons 
involved, with the remark ay “this is the father,” “that 

204 





COLOUR-VISION 


is the mother,” etc. When the story has been related 
several times the child repeats it, and at the same time 
points out the colours belonging to each character. 


B. Methods without direct Linguistic Aid 


1. The Method of Arrangement : 

(a) By Names. A number of colours are placed 
before the child and he is told to pick out all the red 
ones (or blue ones, etc.). 

(4) By Samples. A colour is placed in the child’s 
hands and he is told to select from a pile all colours 
like the sample; or, one shuffles the sample in with the 
other colours and lets the child find it again. The 
method of arrangement requires language only to the 
extent of explaining the problem to the child. 

The last two methods, which follow, are copied from 
experiments with animals, and are applied entirely 
without speech. 

2. The Method of Preference: in which several different 
colours are placed before the child, and one observes 
in a large number of cases which ones he grasps, or 
toward which he glances. 

3. The Method of Training: By means of rewards, 
one seeks to persuade the child to select a single colour, 
from among a number that are shown him. If the 
training is successful, the existence of a sensory achieve- 
ment is thereby demonstrated. 

In early infancy colour-impressions, although occa- 
sionally they give rise to strong feelings of pleasure,?* 
play but a very slight rdéle (the colour of anything 
being as yet unimportant as a means of recognition). 
Thus, Miss Shinn’s niece did not react at all in her 
seventh month when a white pacifier was given to her 
instead of the customary black one. Reactions may 
however, be called forth by colours. Very early the 
child turns toward bright objects, and begins to react 
differently to light and darkness. In this connection 


265 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


it should be noted that light and dark are not really 
colour-designations, such as black and white, but instead 
indicate differences in the “level” of the surroundings. 
All that we can properly say is that a bright object 
may stand out readily from its “background” at a very 
early age. One also finds at this early date that 
saturated colours are preferred to those which are achro- 
matic (black-gray-white). Miss Shinn reports this dis- 
tinction at the end of the third month, while Valentine, 
investigating with the method of preference, in which 
the child was tested by the direction of his gaze, con- 
firms this finding in the fourth month. Valentine’s 
experiments show, too, that colours are not all of equal 
value; for he was able to obtain the following series in 
order of preference: yellow, white, pink, red, brown, 
black, blue, green, violet®*. This series indicates two 
things: (1) that the bright colours come before the dark 
ones—white before black, pink before red ; and (2) that 
the long-wave “ warm ” colours are much preferred to the 
short-wave “cold” colours. One might almost suppose 
that in the white-black series, not black but an inter- 
mediate like dark gray is least attractive, because 
otherwise it is hard to understand why blue, green, 
and violet all followed after black. 

Holden and Bosse ** employed the method of prefer- 
ence in an ingenious way by placing coloured squares 
on a gray ground of the same brightness as the colours, 
and observing whether or not the coloured squares were 
grasped. ‘The result of their experiments was that the 
colours from red to yellow were grasped promptly by 
children seven to eight months old, but that the infants 
must be from ten to twelve months old before they 
would reach for the colours from green to violet. What 
can we infer from this result? It is clear that if a child 
grasps at a coloured square he must have seen something 
on the gray background which was different and worth 
striving after; and this difference could not have been 
one of brightness alone, Peete: the conditions of the 

2 





COLOUR-VISION 


experiment excluded this possibility. But neither can 
we infer that the child saw ved and yellow, for we do 
not know that anything different was seen in the test 
with the red square than was seen in the test with the 
yellow square. And what shall we conclude from the 
negative results obtained in the eighth month with the 
“cold” colours? This much, at least, can be said; that 
the child did not perceive anything that was at once 
different from the background and worth grasping. 
Since these same colours were grasped a few months 
later, it is at least very improbable that this negative 
result involved seeing a difference, though without any 
desire to grasp the colour; for on such an assumption it 
would be difficult to understand why so sudden a change 
in the desire for these colours should have taken place. 
The most probable explanation is that at first only 
the “warm” colours stand out against the achromatic 
shades; the “cold” colours being added later on. 

What colour-phenomena are experienced by the 
child at this stage of development? Putting the 
matter as simply as possible, the child experiences 
configurations of gray and not-gray; not-gray being 
like none of the colours we know and recognize, though 
it differs from gray in the same way in which we find 
that all variegated colours differ from those which have 
no colour at all. By the customary usage of speech 
colour means just those tones which we have designated 
as variegated—white, gray, and black being commonly 
referred to as “uncoloured.” We conclude, then, that 
during the first three-quarters of the child’s first year of 
life no configurations of colour arise other than this 
primitive chromatic-achromatic distinction ; and, indeed 
that this configuration comes into being only when 
objectively “warm” colours chance to lie upon a colour- 
less background, or, we might add, upon an objectively 
“cold” ground of the same brightness. 

Now when a colour-configuration is also established 
for the short-wave colours, the question arises whether 


267 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


this phenomenon is like the one determined by the 
long-wave rays, or whether, in its distinction from 
this configuration, it also possesses the phenomenal 
characteristics of the “cold” rather than of the “warm” 
colours. This question can not yet be answered with 
any degree of certainty, but, as we shall see, there soon 
occurs a stage in the child’s life when this distinction 
between the “warm” and “cold” colours is made. I 
am inclined to believe, however, that at the beginning 
the “cold-figures” appear merely as undifferentiated 
“colour-figures.” Several facts seem to support this 
view. Learning the names of the colours is at first 
very difficult and generally comes much later, unless 
the child has been influenced by some special training, 
Names of colours may occasionally be employed, but 
quite promiscuously ; whereas a colourless object is 
never given a colour-name. The Sterns report of 
their daughter that “at the age of three years and two 
months Hilda called bright and dark things whzte and 
black ; otherwise she pointed with assurance only to 
the colour ved. But the accuracy of the word ved was 
obviously quite accidental, since all variegated colours 
were likewtse called red”**®, As Winch has noted, it 
often happens that variegated colours are distinguished 
from neutral tones by giving them all the same name, 
which indicates that all variegated colours have a 
common characteristic in contrast to the achromatic 
tones, and that this common factor must therefore be 
much more influential than any differences seen between 
the variegated colours themselves.” 

With some reserve I may note the following observa- 
tion upon myself. Being “colour-weak”**, I see red 
and green only under favourable conditions. There 
are certain colours which I recognize immediately as 
“coloured,” yet they are always very distasteful to me, 
simply because I am unable to classify them. I am 
tempted to call them brown, though they easily slip 
over into red, or even into green. Yet they possess, 


268 





COLOUR-VISION 


as I have said, a quality which makes them unsuited 
to belong with any of the other colours. Still, these 
colours are chromatic beyond a doubt. 

Turning now to the experiments which involve the 
use of language, the numerous results of Preyer, Binet, 
Shinn, and Winch **, among others which are available, 
seem at first glance to be quite contradictory. It is 
impossible to give an explanation covering all these 
observations with any degree of certainty, because we 
are not sure of the exact nature of the colours with 
which the individual investigators have worked. Future 
workers in this field should consider this point and take 
care that in all examinations of colour-vision differences 
which may be attributable to brightness and saturation 
are rigidly excluded. 

An important material cause of the varying con- 
clusions reached by different investigators may be found 
in the fact that the result of an experiment depends 
so largely upon the method employed. Word-sign-, 
naming-, and arrangement-methods give quite different 
results, as Binet and Miss Shinn have already pointed 
out. In each method, too, the number and selection of 
colours to be combined are of the utmost importance in 
determining the results of the test. 

I may refer to Binet’s experiment as an example. 
He began his investigations with a little girl two years 
and eight months old, placing before the child at first 
only red and green strands of wool (the Holmgren 
test). Examination by the first two language-methods 
produced 100 per cent. correct reactions. Yellow was 
then added, the result being that yellow and green were 
constantly confused. When the yellow was removed, 
all the reactions were immediately correct ; as soon as 
it was included, the errors began again. If the green 
was now taken away the word-sign-method indicated 
no errors; but with the naming-method there were 
100 per cent. mistakes, since yellow was always called 
green. On a day when Be naming-method still indi- 

209 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


cated a complete confusion of yellow and green, the 
arrangement-method (Bld)—in which a certain strand 
already shown was selected from a pile containing three 
strands each of red, yellow, and green—was carried out 
with no errors at all. 

Up to the present these results have almost always 
been interpreted as indicating errors which consisted 
solely in attaching the wrong names to the colours. 
This explanation, however, appears to be insufficient ; 
for why should naming have been so difficult? Appar 
ently there are difficulties here which do not exist in 
learning other words. Furthermore, we have already 
seen that the names black, gray, and white are never 
employed for variegated colours, provided the colours 
are sufficiently saturated. *® 

Other results indicate that frequent confusions of 
colour occur in the case of blue-green, green-white, 
yellow-white, violet-blue, red-blue (according to Miss 
Shinn), all pale colours with gray or white, and all 
dark colours with black. Finally, Winch performed a 
large number of experiments with the naming-method 
which previously had furnished only the most unfavour- 
able results. Winch sought to eliminate the defects of 
this method by testing children who already had been 
taught the names of the colours in the kindergarten, 
where all the colours were practised equally. Accord- 
ing to Winch, a difference in the serial order of the 
correct word-usage must then depend altogether upon 
a difference in the colour-phenomenon itself; provided, 
of course, that phonetic difficulties attaching to the 
particular names of the colours have been taken into 
account. The individual variations were now consider- 
able; but on the average the following series was 
indicated: red, blue, green, yellow, violet, orange. 
Meumann gives exactly the same series ; while Garbini 
found the following series, both in naming and in dis- 
crimination: red, green, yellow, orange, blue, violet. 

In considering results such as these, it is easy to 

270 





™ 


COLOUR-VISION 


assume, as most investigators have done, “that what we 
have here is the development of certain modes of appre- 
hension, but not the development of a sensory capacity 
or, in physiological terms, the development of reactions 
of the ‘visual substances’ in the sense of Hering’s 
theory” **. The principal grounds upon which in- 
vestigators have been led to this view are the following: 
First, the great variation in the results obtained from 
different observers. Secondly, the great individual 
differences. For instance, Miss Shinn’s niece could 
name red, yellow, and blue things at the end of her 
73rd week. Experiments were then begun in the 79th 
week, and were at once successful in the case of these 
three colours. With Preyer’s son, on the other hand, 
it was impossible for him to learn two colours at the 
end of the 87th week, and the experiments were for the 
first time successful in the 108th week. Thirdly, the 
dependency of the performance upon the nature of the 
test. Bihler finds support for this conclusion in an 
instance of anticipation observed by Mrs Woolley. The 
child observed in its sixth month indicated by grasping- 
tests a definitely graded preference for colours: “warm” 
being preferred to “cold,” and dark to bright. This 
preference then disappeared altogether, and for many 
months no differentiation on the basis of colours was 
in any wise indicated. It is Buhler’s opinion that “it 
would be without rhyme or reason to assume that the 
sensory capacity had undergone any retrogression.” 
Bihler’s argument, however, is based upon a presump- 
tion which we have already several times declined to 
accept ; namely, the “ constancy-hypothesis,” according 


‘to which a certain sensation always corresponds to a 


certain stimulus just as soon as ever the capacity for 

the sensation in question has been attained.! It is only 

on the basis of this assumption that Bihler’s inference 

is valid; otherwise one might say that the conditions 

for the appearance of colour-phenomena in the case of 

Mrs Woolley’s child were especially favourable in the 
271 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


sixth month—a possibility which even Bihler makes 
note of. The grasping-tendency is at this time in the 
ascendant, and if a number of coloured papers are 
placed before the child it glances frequently from one 
to the other before it grasps. As development proceeds 
further, the child is no longer restricted to grasping, but 
begins to undertake new types of manipulation with 
things; in consequence of which the colours become 
entirely irrelevant. In other words, since the conditions 
are no longer favourable for the appearance of colour- 
phenomena—or, better, of colour -configurations—the 
phenomena themselves fail to appear. 

Whatever may be said against the special argument 
based upon anticipations such as Mrs Woolley has 
recorded is also applicable to this entire mode of 
thought. We simply can not be satisfied with a de- 
scription which states that the child experiences the 
colour-sensations correctly but is not yet able to appre- 
hend or discriminate them. We should rather ask: 
What is now the actual nature of the child’s phenomena? 
Indeed, the case is the same as it was when we argued 
against “ unnoticed relations” (cf. above p. 208 f.). From 
our point of view the assertion that a colour-difference 
is apprehended signifies that two colours have entered 
into a definite kind of union; in other words, there 
arises a configuration of two colours, in which the 
colours appear as they stand in this configuration. 
The development of colour-perception is therefore the 
gradual construction of new colour-figures; accordingly 
the conditions for the arousal of such figures may 
readily become less favourable than they were at some 
previous time. Thus the anticipations which have been 
described in so significant a way by Mrs Woolley, and 
which have also been observed by other investigators, 
are in fact a demonstration of the validity of our theory; 
for we have already shown (p. 263) how anticipations 
may be understood as configurative processes arising 
under exceptionally favourable external conditions. 

272 


COLOUR-VISION 


Regarding the results in this way, their dependency 
upon the method employed is also readily compre- 
hended; as can be shown by reference to /|Binet’s ex- 
periment which we described above. Ifthe configuration 
red-green has been acquired, and yellow is then added, 
the confusion which takes place in naming may be 
looked upon as an indication that now the same con- 
figuration is operative; namely, that of red—not-red. 
In agreement with this interpretation, the word-sign- 
method indicated no errors for red and yellow, whereas 
by the naming-method all the results were wrong. If, 
on the other hand, the arrangement-method was em- 
ployed, the red configuration was no longer involved 
when the child was tested with a yellow or a green. 
The “relational system” having been changed, so to 
speak, everything now depended upon the configurations 
of yellow—yellow, or of green—green, or again of yellow 
—not-yellow, or green—not-green. The arrangement- 
experiment teaches us, indeed, that variants of this kind 
actually occur without in any way contradicting the 
results obtained in the other experiments. 

It is apparent that future investigators will have to 
take these configurations more into account than they 
have done in the past. Both the kind of colours, and 
the ground upon which they are exhibited, must be 
systematically varied. 

A discovery of Kohler offers further support to our 
theory. In hisinvestigation of chimpanzees he arranged 
some tests of choice-training in which he selected colours 
A, B, C, not from the black-white series, but lying 
somewhere between red and blue, or between red and 
yellow. His results correspond exactly with those pre- 
viously reported. One observation, however, is of 
particular interest. A, B, C, D, EE being the reddest 
—were five different colours lying between red and blue, 
whose nuances were easily distinguishable by man. 
Taking the pair B C, the chimpanzee was required to 
learn to react to the markedly reddish C. This attempt 

273 S 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


was a failure. The interval was then increased, and 
the investigation continued with the pair B D. The 
selection of D was then rapidly learned. When there- 
after the pair B C was again offered, C was chosen 
correctly without an exception; and some time later, 
D was selected without an exception in the interval 
C D*. This result is very important to us for the 
following reason: At first it was impossible to construct 
a definite configuration of B C, although occasionally 
it proved effective; but the configuration of B D took 
place at once, and thereafter both BC and C D were 
effective. Here, then, is a case which corresponds ex- 
actly to our law of memory as formulated on p. 248 f. 
A configuration arising under favourable objective 
conditions reappears also when the conditions are less 
favourable. 

The following hypotheses concerning the development 
of colour-vision seem to me justified by the results we 
have cited. First of all, a configuration takes place 
with reference to colour and non-colour, and this occurs 
earlier with the long-wave colours than with the short- 
wavecolours. Consider now the developmental series of 
Winch and Meumann in contrast with the one obtained 
by Garbini (cf. above p. 270). If we omit the position 
of orange in Garbini’s series, the difference is much less 
than at first it appears to be. After red there follows 
in each series a “cold” colour, then a second “warm” 
anda second “cold” colour—although in inverted order 
—and finally an “intermediate colour,” violet ; followed 
in the series of Winch and Meumann by orange, which 
appeared earlier in Garbini’s series. Since the methods 
of testing and learning were different in all three cases, 
one could hardly expect a closer correspondence; yet 
in my opinion this much, at least, can be provisionally 
inferred from these results: that after the stage of 
colour—non-colour, described above, there follows a 
period in which “ warm—cold” and probably also “warm 
—colourless” and “cold—colourless” configurations 


274 





COLOUR-VISION 


arise; which would account for the confusion of blue and 
green, these being configurations achieved by the inter- 
mediate zone of the retina, such as are indicated in 
cases of red-green colour-blindness. How intimate 
this connection with colour -blindness may be, the 
material at hand is too incomplete to determine. 

In the next place we may suppose that a differentia- 
tion takes place within the “ warm” and “cold” colours, 
causing the four principal colours, red, yellow, green, 
and blue to appear. More exactly, we can say that in 
opposition to the colourless experiences, colour - con- 
figurations are constituted in four directions. Here, 
too, I have been able to find an analogy in a case of 
defective vision. The last step would be a differentia- 
tion leading to the appearance of the intermediate 
colours, and although the development is essentially 
one of maturation, practice influences it very markedly. 
Thus, the considerable difference in the reactions of 
Miss Shinn’s niece and the Stern children may, in large 
part, depend upon their respective environments; for 
the latter children grew up in the stony surroundings 
of Breslau, whereas Miss Shinn’s niece lived in a country 
house amid the luxuriant landscape of California. 

According to this view, the learning of colour- 
names depends upon the possibility of arousing accurate 
colour-configurations. The connection between colour- 
configuration and name has never, perhaps, been so 
strikingly observed as by Stumpf in the case of his 
own child. This boy (as we shall have occasion to 
note at the close of the chapter) spoke a language of 
his own up to his fourth year—a language which con- 
tained but two colour-names: @ and wezch, “Every 
colour in contrast with white was called @, and in con- 
trast with black, wezch,; or speaking more generally, 
the darker of any two colours was @ and the lighter 
weich” ** 

To us, the configuration is the primary characteristic, 
the name of the colour being secondary. But this 


275 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


point of view has been completely reversed by Peters 
in a work written with great insight upon the basis of 
certain experimental distinctions which he made for 
the purpose of elucidating some of his data. Peters 
regards the confusions which children make, not only 
in naming but also in arranging colours, to be a result 
of the influence exerted by their names upon the appre- 
hension and comparison of the colours themselves **4, 
He confines himself to the confusion of intermediate 
and. principal colours, blue and violet, red and purple, 
etc., and deduces five consequences from his thesis 
which he then attempts to prove experimentally. 

(1) Children who possess no definite colour-names, 
ought to commit no errors in arrangement; (2) neither 
should they commit any errors when the correct names 
are introduced. (3) On the other hand, such children 
must commit errors whenever one introduces the same 
name for both przncepal and intermediate colours. (4) 
Children who are already able to name the intermediate 
colours correctly, should make no errors in arrange- 
ment. (5) Children who at first commit errors in 
naming and arranging should correct these errors as 
soon as they have learned to name the colours correctly. 

Peters believes that he has demonstrated all five of 
these inferences. He concludes, therefore, that the 
development of colour-perception in older children has 
nothing to do with sensory functioning, or with its 
morphological substratum, but depends altogether upon 
the constitution of the so-called higher intellectual 
processes of apprehension, reproduction, and thinking 
with respect to these sensory capacities. Apprehension 
is not altogether determined by sensation, since a 
knowledge of the colour-names may, under certain 
circumstances, be of greater significance than the 
sensory component; yet, but for the naming of the 
colour, no errors at all would ever be made. “A child 
who attaches the same name, blue, to both blue and 
violet, does not merely apprehend violet as something 


276 





— 


| 


COLOUR-VISION 


which looks so-and-so, but at the same time, as being 
an object which is called blue.... The colour-name 
which thus influences apprehension—one might speak 
here of a verbo-perceptive influence—is in both colours 
the same, and the knowledge of this common term 
has the obvious effect of altogether setting aside any 
difference in their appearance, so long as this difference 
is not too great” *®. We have directed our argument 
so often against the employment of such concepts as 
“apprehension,” etc., that the reader will at once be 
able to formulate for himself our objection to this 
particular interpretation. We have only to show how 
Peters’ experimental results appear after we have set 
aside the distinction which he has drawn between 
the sensory and the higher intellectual functions, as 
though they existed separately and along side one 
another, in order to indicate what may be their real 
value. 

Let us therefore consider these experiments in detail. 
Backward children were made the subjects of the 
investigation, and since all possible stages of colour- 
mastery can be found among these cases, they furnish 
exceptionally good material from which to obtain an 
answer to the question raised. The subjects tested 
ranged between 6°10 and 12 years of age, while 
their mental ages varied from 5 to 9*4 years. In 
determining mental age, these children were classified 
in comparison with normal children by means of the 
Binet-Simon scale of tests. This is not the place to 
discuss this method of testing, but one should not 
expect to find by such means anything more than an 
approximate characterization of mental age. That a 
backward child of a certain mental age is not at all the 
equivalent of a normal child of the same chronological 
age was shown in these experiments ; for Peters remarks 
of his backward children that a momentarily successful 
practice in naming colours lasted only for a brief period 
of time, (Cf. also the observations on p. 33 f.) 

277 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


The investigations themselves were experiments 
upon the arrangement of coloured samples. A coloured 
skein of wool was laid before the child, who was then 
given the task of selecting “all the others that look 
like this wool here” from a pile of thoroughly mixed 
skeins consisting of seventeen different nuances; three 
skeins having been provided of each of six colours. 

The child was then taught to name certain colours. 
These separate colours were again shown ina constantly 
changing series and, with the aid of pointing the finger, 
the names were again repeated. 

Peters did, indeed, find support for each of the five 
inferences stated above. Unfortunately, he found only 
one case in which the child originally possessed no 
definite colour-names, and hence, in accordance with the 
first inference, made no errors in his arrangement; 
although this child did place some skeins of brighter 
and less saturated blue along with the blue sample. A 
boy who possessed an almost perfect understanding of 
the colour-names—so that he even called violet colours 
litac—misnamed only the purple, which he called ved. 
Yet in the arrangement-experiment this same boy 
reacted differently when he received a red, than when 
he received a purple sample; for although he made no 
errors in the first instance, when he was afterwards given 
the purple sample he selected not only all the purples 
but also the reds. Peters does not make allowance for 
this striking behaviour; but concludes from the experi- 
ment in which a correct arrangement had previously been 
made with reference to the blue sample, that when the 
names of intermediate colours were known there were 
no errors; but when only the names of principal colours 
were known, errors of arrangement occurred. Peters’ 
second inference, however, is further-reaching than the 
experimental report with which we are now dealing: 
namely, that errors of arrangement occurred only when 
the intermediate, and xot when the principal colours 
were used as samples***, A behaviour of this kind was 


278 





COLOUR-VISION 


partially duplicated in another experiment. The name 
red for red and purple tones, and the name blue for both 
blue and violet tones, were taught to a boy who knew 
no colour-names, and therefore did not confuse the 
colours at all. After instruction, this boy placed all 
the blue and violet tones with the blue sample; with 
the red sample, however, he placed no purple tones at 
all, but only the red ones. Unfortunately, no experiment 
was made with the purple sample as the standard of 
comparison, 

The experiment with a little girl who, among all the 
colours, named only red and blue correctly, went very 
prettily (cf. our discussion on p. 274 above). With the 
red sample she placed red, purple, and lilac; and with 
the blue sample, blue, violet, and lilac. The name 
violet was then suggested to her, and no more errors 
were made with the blue or purple samples ; though she 
repeatedly selected the wrong skeins, either violet or 
blue, from the pile and after comparing them with the 
sample laid them back again. Peters thinks that this 
hesitancy may have had some connection with the child’s 
previous habit of calling violet objects blue; but the 
same behaviour was observed in a boy who named only 
the principal colours correctly, although he committed 
no errors in his arrangements. 

The experimental results which have now been re- 
viewed seem to demonstrate that Peters’ theory is at 
best incomplete. Yet the experiments also indicate the 
direction in which we must seek for an explanation of 
the discrepancies we have noted. Let us begin with 
the data last mentioned where no actual errors in 
arrangement were made. A wrong skein was often 
rejected only after it had been selected for comparison 
with the sample. There are two points of interest here: 
(1) Why was the wrong colour taken from the pile at 
all; and (2) What does this comparison signify? The 
second question can be readily answered. When colours 
are held side by side—the sample and a differently 

279 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


coloured skein—they exist together as members ofa con- 
figuration which, since the comparison led to rejection, 
proved to be a configuration involving a difference. 
Peters has a theory to cover the first question, but we 
have already seen that his theory fits the facts only in 
special instances, and not generally. Apart from these 
special instances, Peters’ theory depends upon the 
soundness of his entire hypothetical structure. If we 
can get along without his theory, we may say that 
the wrong colour was picked up because the stimulus 
for such an act was afforded by the colour itself; in 
other words, the colour was chosen for comparison with 
the sample- colour because the stimulus involved an 
wndex of uncertainty. One result of name- learning 
would therefore be that colours acquire indices of un- 
certainty ; which leads us to the main problem—What 
takes place in learning of this type? According to 
Peters, learning is solely a matter of the connecticn 
between a sensation and a word. But we have already 
seen that connections of this sort are not the primary 
achievements of any systematictraining. The important 
thing is that the child shall “see the point” of the tests. 
If a child, to whom blue skeins of wool are named as 
being blue, while violet ones are called violet, intends 
to learn this fact, he must first understand, however in- 
completely, why colours, which until then have borne 
the same name, should now be named differently. This 
means that in the process of learning the child must 
acquire a new colour-configuration. He must learn to 
see something different when blue appears on the back- 
ground than when violet is there. This is the most 
natural thing in the world to me—a partially colour- 
weak person. When a child I never could understand 
why adults often called “blue” things “lilac.” I have 
since learned why, though rather incompletely ; for I 
now know that a blue can be reddish, and I therefore 
try to reconstruct the colour as a red. This is often 
difficult, and sometimes re But if I can lay 
200 





COLOUR-VISION 


a blue colour alongside of one which is doubtful, such 
as violet, my doubt is removed; for in the colour-pair 
the one which was just now bluish and very “ doubtful ” 
becomes strongly reddish, often, indeed, quite purple. 
When, therefore, a child is taught to give the same names 
to principal and intermediate colours, whereas previously 
he had made no use at all of colour-names, the child 
must learn, for instance, when to say blue, and when to 
say red, Thus he undertakes to construct the same 
configuration for blue on a background that he does for 
violet on a background (and likewise for red and purple). 
The fact that principal and intermediate colours are not 
named differently until much later is, from our point of 
view, a sign that the blue and red are originally formed 
by the intermediate no less than by the principal colours. 
Although we are here dealing with a “ verbo-perceptive ” 
influence, its effect must be quite different from the one. 
Peters refers to. 

We can now understand, not only Peters’ five infer- 
ences, but also the facts which he did not explain. I 
do not need to go into details, but would like to point 
out that during instruction the child has figural ex- 
periences of colour and ground, and that in the selection 
which takes place the figures are complicated by heap- 
ing the colours together and thus mixing the different 
strands of wool. This is undoubtedly the principal 
reason why wrong colours are so often placed beside 
the test-colour for comparison; leading, finally, to a 
figure for comparison in which an intermediate colour 
is contrasted with a principal colour. In the matter 
of differentiating principal and intermediate colours in 
incorrect arrangements (cf. p. 278), the following may 
be said: Psychologically, an arrangement of colours 
with reference to a red standard is not the same as an 
arrangement with reference to a purple standard, even 
though the same name is attached to each standard. 
Since purple against a background gives the same kind 
of figure as red against a background, when the relational 

281 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


system has purple as its standard, all reds will belong 
in this system. Consequently, the figure in which purple 
is differentiated from red does not come into considera- 
tion, because the standard, with reference to its back- 
ground, already possesses the characteristic of red. On 
the other hand, when the standard is red, the purple 
figure can easily arise in opposition to the red; and this 
Opposition may be carried in the memory so that purple 
will be rejected; again indicating that the principal 
colours have an outstanding position. 

Peters has, in point of fact, demonstrated the in- 
fluence exerted by names upon the apprehension and 
comparison of colours, but we need not take “ apprehen- 
sion” and “comparison” to be processes of a “higher” 
order that are merely added to a lower order of un- 
changing sensory processes. Instead, these are all con- 
figurative processes determining the quality of their 
membership, including the so-called “sensations.” In 
this respect Peters’ experiments bring a valuable support, 
as well as a deeper insight, into the development of our 
theory.”” 

The untenability of Peters’ hypothesis is indicated 
by an argument which he advances in its support. The 
influence of knowledge upon perception is often remarked 
in the case of adults ; especially with reference to colour. 
For instance, a white lying in a shadow does not look 
black, neither does a gray in full illumination look 
white, so long as one is able to survey the spatial 
arrangement of each. Hering was the first to call 
attention to these phenomena, which he termed memory- 
colours, although Hering’s theory differs from that of 
Peters. Katz,” who has made a thorough investigation 
of these phenomena, found that the apparent whiteness 
of an achromatic tone maintains its relative independence 
of the amount of light reflected from its surface into the 
eye, even when no knowledge at all is given concerning 
the “actual” nature of the colour. On the other hand, 
he found that this “reference to the illumination ”—this 

282 





q 
7 


COLOUR-VISION 


transformation, as Jaensch has called it—is bound up 
with the fact that the colour appears as the colour of an 
olject, and not merely as an extended coloration, such, 
for instance, as that of the blue heavens. This discovery 
has been substantiated, and given greater precision, by 
Gelb’s observations upon pathological cases." Katz, 
however, regarded these colour-transformations as effects 
of memory ; that is, as products of experience. 

By means of choice-experiments, of a kind we already 
know, Kéhler?”° has been able to show that colour- 
transformations occur with chimpanzees, and even with 
hens. The hens experimented upon varied in age from 
seven to fifteen months. One-half of them were trained 
to eat from a white surface and the other half froma 
black surface, the two surfaces being placed side by side 
inthe same illumination. It was found that the influence 
of this training remained without alteration, even when 
the white surface was shaded to such an extent that it 
reflected less light than the black surface—the black 
surface in some cases being objectively 12.4 times as 
bright as the white. Not only is knowledge or any 
“ yverbo-perceptive” influence here excluded, but likewise 
any effect of experience whatsoever; for, if the word 
“experience” is to have any meaning at all in the 
explanation of human behaviour based on perception, it 
is certainly not applicable to the experience of a seven- 
months-old hen (and the same experiments can be 
made with even younger fowls). 

Since in these transformations the bearing of one 
colour upon another is always involved, we can not be 
accused of anticipating the development of our theory if 
we again apply the operation of configural functions to 
our explanation; especially when we consider that 
Kohler’s selective trainings all depended upon such 
configurations. Consequently, the facts Peters adduces 
in support of his theory, as well as his own experiments, 
both lead back to our own theory of the development 
of colour-vision, How very young children would behave 


283 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


under similar conditions has not yet been investigated, 
but the problem is one well worth undertaking. 


§ 6— Continuation: Spatial Factors 


We shall now select for consideration a few of the 
more important problems involved in the development 
of visual space-perception. In the beginning the infant’s 
field of vision, considered as an area within which visible 
objects arouse reactions, is very limited. At first the 
child sees only what lies directly before him; objects 
which appear but slightly to one side, above or below, 
being practically non-existent. Similarly, visual depth 
is very slight. Stern calls this perceptual limitation 
near-space, and reckons it as approximating a half-sphere 
about the head with a radius of perhaps a third of a 
metre. Whatever lies beyond is not seen with any 
specific quality, though it may contribute to the general 
background of visual experience. This limit of a third 
of a metre is not inflexible, however, but depends upon 
the kind of object seen; indeed, a general variability of 
this sort obtains throughout the entire field of vision. 
Thus bright objects can be perceived at greater distances 
from the centre than dark objects, whether with refer- 
ence to height, breadth, or depth. Compayré reports 
on this point as follows: “ Place a lighted candle two or 
three metres from a child fifteen or twenty days old; 
he will look at it fixedly; if you place it three, four, or 
five metres from him, it will become evident that the 
child has lost sight of the light, and you will be sure 
from the uncertainty of his glances that he no longer 
perceives anything.” As regards the absolute magni- 
tude of the distance, reports of observers vary con- 
siderably 7. 

Attempts have been made to explain these facts on 
the ground that a restricted field of vision depends upon 
a later development of functional capacity in the peri- 
pheral than in the central hayes! of the retina; while 

204 





SPATIAL FACTORS 


inability to apprehend visual depth has been attributed 
to an original incompleteness of eye-movements, especi- 
ally those of accommodation and convergence. But 
this cannot be an adequate statement of the case; 
because in certain ways these characteristics of visual 
space, as found in early childhood, recur again in adult 
life. The peripheral portions of the field of vision, as 
well as the remote distances of visual space, are always 
at a disadvantage in comparison with the nearer regions ; 
and this is true for perceptions of colour as well as for 
those of form and magnitude. Analogous to the results 
obtained with children, the degree of this disadvantage 
depends upon the nature of the object selected for the 
test *”, This latter circumstance, in particular, contra- 
dicts the all too simple nature of the explanation which 
has been offered. We must think of development in 
terms of a process of maturation in the course of which 
certain regions of the nervous system attain the capacity 
of forming fixed configurations which at first they do 
not possess; this process of maturation being dependent 
upon functional employment. From numerous patho- 
logical observations we know that even an adult is able 
to develop such an ability through practice, when the 
practice is needful to him. Biological importance 
attaches at first only to what is near at hand; and to 
be able to see at great distances is for most living beings 
of no importance whatever. That a dog, for instance, 
should be able to see the mountains which enclose a 
valley, seems to me, from personal observation, highly 
improbable, 

I am inclined to believe that a connection exists 
between the extension of the field of visual space and 
still another of its properties. To us adults the 
“apparent magnitude” of an object—that is, how great 
a thing looks—is relatively independent of the actual 
magnitude of its retinal image. When a man removes 
himself from a distance of one metre to a distance of 
four metres from us, he does not suddenly appear to be 


285 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


one-quarter as large as he did before, even though the 
retinal image must have undergone diminution to this 
extent. As a matter of fact, we see no change of 
magnitude at all. Thus, within a certain distance we 
never confuse a small object near at hand with a large 
object farther off. Yet this independence of retinal 
magnitude is not absolute; for when I find myself at a 
considerable distance from the man, he suddenly appears 
very small indeed. A village seen from a mountain 
top may look like a toy which came out of a box, and 
even a very high mountain peak when seen from another 
peak at a great distance may look like a minute point. 
On the other hand, there is a certain adequate distance, 
a zone, as it were, within which the “actual magnitude” 
of an object is best apprehended, and this distance is 
different in apprehending a thimble than it is in appre- 
hending a man, and is again different in apprehending 
a mountain *”. 

These phenomena have usually been explained in the 
way indicated by Helmholtz; thus Stern speaks of an 
involved association between the impression of distance 
and that of magnitude; while Bithler points out that 
the relative independence of apparent magnitude from 
the retinal image “must first be acquired and practised 
bystherchildvs. 

Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about this 
acquisition and practice on the part of children. 
Helmholtz reports an undated remembrance of child- 
hood, when human beings seen on a church-tower in 
Potsdam looked to him like dolls. I can also recall a 
very similar experience. On the victory-column in 
Berlin cannon-barrels are placed at different heights, 
and I remember quite well that I could scarcely believe 
my father, with whom I often passed by this column, 
when he told me they were all cannons; for while the 
lower ones did appear like short rifles, the higher ones 
seemed like small pistols. Although they no longer 
look that way to me, the upper ones still seem smaller 


286 





SPATIAL FACTORS 


than the lower ones, and no amount of knowledge has 
sufficed to alter this sensory impression, which is in 
direct contradiction with Helmholtz’s explanation from 
experience, signifying an association of sensations with 
ideas and judgments. 

The experiments in choice-training which Koéhler 
carried out with chimpanzees have again shown that 
the relations here involved are similar to those of colour- 
transformations, with which phenomena the relative 
constancy of apparent magnitude possesses a consider- 
able objective likeness.?” Ké6hler trained his animals 
to choose the larger of two boxes having front-boards 
of different size, the boxes being at like distances from 
the animal. The larger box was then so far removed 
that the retinal image of its front became smaller than 
that of the smaller box. All necessary precautions were 
taken into consideration, and yet the effect of training 
persisted. Even the behaviour of a four-year-old chim- 
panzee indicated the constancy of apparent magnitude 
within a certain zone of distance ; which shows that the 
usual hypothesis referring the constancy of selection to 
experience is highly improbable, if not impossible. 
All the facts otherwise known concerning apparent 
magnitude, such, for instance, as the effects of clearness, 
impressiveness, the configuration of what is seen—that 
the smaller the apparent magnitude, corresponding 
ceteris paribus to a definite retinal image, the greater the 
clearness attaching to it 7”®—all these point toward 
dependencies which involve the total configuration. 

The development of this capacity which, as Kohler 
points out, can be investigated by choice-training with 
very small children, is in all likelihood more a matter 
of maturation than of learning; although the process 
is obviously of such an order that it can not go on inde- 
pendent of the employment of the organs concerned *”, 
That is why I have suggested above that a connection 
must exist between the development of an apparent 
constancy of magnitude, and the development of spatial 


287 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


extension. And even at a relatively late period of life 
this development is not yet at an end, as was demon- 
strated both by the observations of Helmholtz and my- 
self; since mine certainly extended back into the sixth, 
if not into the seventh year of my life. These observa- 
tions, however, do not mean that constancy of magnitude 
may not already have been established for shorter 
distances than those here referred to. 

The following observation of Stern does not aid us at 
all with our problem: Once when the baby was eight 
months old, while waiting for his bottle, he was shown, 
by way of a joke, a doll’s bottle about one-fifteenth the 
usual size. “He became greatly excited and snapped 
at the bottle as though it were the real one.” As Stern 
rightly points out, this demonstrates how small a part 
size actually plays in the recognition of things during 
this period of life; but it does not indicate, as Stern 
also infers, that a constancy of magnitude, in the sense 
in which we have employed the term,” must have been 
lacking. 

An hypothesis based upon experiments with eidetic 
images (cf. p. 245), which has been advanced by Paula 
Busse to explain the as yet uninvestigated cause of 
development ‘in the constancy of magnitude, seems to 
me likewise untenable. Her idea is that the eidetic 
image of an object when seen at close range ought to 
fuse with the perceptual complex of the same object 
when it is more distant, thus maintaining the constancy 
of magnitude*”. There is nothing to question in her 
observations, and they are interesting and important 
enough in themselves, but just how they relate to the 
constancy of magnitude and its development is a matter 
which must first be investigated in greater detail. For 
instance, in a demonstration made by Jaensch before a 
scientific gathering at Nauheim in 1920, a remote object 
was so influenced by the constitution of the eidetic 
image that it appeared to be enlarged beyond its actual 
limits, as previously determined by the points of a com- 


288 





| 
. 
| 
; 
| 
| 
} 


SPATIAL FACTORS 


pass. Ina case like this, the matter is extremely com- 
plicated ; the factors in the configuration upon which 
the apparent magnitude depends may exercise a different 
influence upon the eidetic image than they do upon 
either the perceptual, or the after-images. Nor is there 
any reason to suppose that one of these influences is 
more original than another, so that the others must be 
derived from it. 

The perception of form confirms the suitability of our 
general principle of explanation. We have previously 
referred to the fact (cf. above p. 133) that it is not the 
simplest of geometrical forms, but those biologically the 
most important, which are first evident in infantile per- 
ception. From her 25th day forward, Miss Shinn’s niece 
took an interest in human faces, which in her second 
quarter-year she was able to distinguish as familiar and 
unfamiliar. To teach the child “simple figures” is 
possible only at a much later time. Miss Shinn, to 
whom we owe a number of good observations on this 
subject, was able to impress her niece with the printed 
letter o in the beginning of her twelfth month. From 
her 343rd day the child pointed out the o correctly, 
while in the thirteenth month her behaviour showed 
marked independence of the absolute magnitude of the 
letter. On her 382nd day the child found an o printed 
in small type; and thereafter would occasionally con- 
fuse o’s with c's. This behaviour is very instructive, 
because sensory-wise c and o are quite different, but as 
a figure a ¢ may be taken for an “incomplete” o, At 
the end of her 21st month, the names of the forms 
which the child had learned from a toy consisting of 
small and variously shaped pieces of cardboard, were 
for the first time applied to things in her environment, 
Thus, for instance, the folded edge of a man’s collar 
was called a triangle. This should not be understood 
to mean that the collar-edge simply reproduced the 
name ¢rzangle on account of its similarity with the tri- 
angular cardboard, but iar that the triangular con. 

289 T 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


figuration which was acquired in the use of the toy now 
entered into the perception of a man’s collar. That is 
to say, the progress which the child had made was not 
merely in naming, but essentially in perceiving. 

At the end of her 22nd month, after the child had 
acquired a remarkable facility in dealing with and in 
recognizing plane figures, experiments were performed 
with simple geometrical solids. These solids gave the 
child considerable difficulty, especially in learning to 
use the word cube, instead of which she always said 
square; although she learned very readily to employ 
the word éall for a sphere. This difference also indi- 
cates a peculiarity of perception. From the start, the 
figure of a cube is very closely related to the figure of a 
square, whereas a ball is evidently something new, as 
compared with a flat circle. 

In consideration of what has previously been said, 
these achievements are relatively late; moreover, 
children are able to recognize pictures of persons 
at a much earlier date. They also take pictures for 
actual things; fear, for instance, was shown by Miss 
Shinn’s niece on her 293rd day when the picture of a 
cat was placed before her. The behaviour of a child 
towards pictures is also like his behaviour towards 
things; the child will put his finger into the eyes of 
a portrait, just as he would into those of a living being, 
Miss Shinn’s niece recognized large portraits as those 
of human beings in her tenth month, and she recognized 
individuals, such as “mother,” “father,” etc., as early as 
the beginning of her second year. Even small photo- 
graphs were recognized, and the father was found among 
a group of other persons. A child of nine months takes 
pleasure in his picture-book, and actually knows the 
pictures. According to Stern, the crude outline at first 
determines recognition, while an equally crude filling-in 
of the surface holds the second place in his interest ; the 
finer details, however, attain importance very gradually. 
Stern tested the significance of the outline by a neat 

290 





SPATIAL FACTORS 


method which he calls the method of “evolution.” This 
method consists in “constructing a drawing before the 
eyes of the child, ceasing at the moment the child is 
able to name it” °°. Some of these tests are here repro- 
duced, and crude as the drawings are, they were recog- 
nized at the age I'1o (Fig. 14). 

These experiments prove that the figures of early 
infantile perception may be readily aroused, though 
they are still very crude, and possess little in the way 
of internal structure. The internal structure, however, 
becomes constantly more definite as the child develops. 
And hence, figures which a child recognizes at an early 
age are sometimes not recognized later on. Hilda 


Ye () 


Bow-wow Stocking Bottle 


(After Stern. 
FIG, 14. 


Stern, for instance, who recognized the bottle in the 
above figure at the age of 1°10, was unable to recog- 
nize the same picture two and one-half years later. 
Binet also experimented upon a little girl of 1'9 with 
simple outline drawings. From his results we may 
note the following: Expressions of smiling and weep- 
ing and the direction of the gaze were recognized in 
faces where the achievement would have been con- 
siderable if one were to think of it in terms of the 
geometry of drawing, since the differences of expression 
were determined by fine differences of internal structure. 
This result, therefore, would seem to contradict Stern’s 
conclusion as to the primary significance of the outline; 
though the facts agree very well with data reported 
concerning the recognition of photographs, where Stern 
himself calls attention to this contradiction. Binet’s 
2gor 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY. 


experiments, however, are also in direct contradiction 
with the otherwise quite improbable explanation offered 
by Stern, who states that the recollections a child has 
of his parents must be much more detailed than his 
recollections of other objects. Yet since the child can 
distinguish fine nuances of expression in quite unfamiliar 
faces, this fact can only be explained in agreement with 
our previous results when we regard expression as a part 
of these quite early phenomena, so that what the child 
recognizes in the picture is the expression itself rather 
than the configuration of a surface. Indeed, what the 
child recognizes in the face of his father is not the colour, 
the size, the distance between the eyes, the form of the 
nose, mouth, chin, etc., but those essential characteristics 
which enable us to differentiate a good photograph from 
a poor, though geometrically correct, one—that is, those 
properties of a picture for which we have no special 
name in our language. 

Another of Binet’s results is no less interesting. 
When presented severally, the child fails to recognize 
the isolated parts of objects which he would recognize 
without hesitation were they exhibited in their proper 
relations. Thus an ear, a mouth, or a finger was not 
recognized in Binet’s tests, even when the test was re- 
peated nearly three years later (at the age of 4:4); 
which shows very clearly that quite different phenomena 
may correspond to the same objectively given thing 
(the outline of an ear, for example), according to its 
context. To employ two expressions coined by 
Wertheimer, a familiar “whole-part” or a completely 
unfamiliar “ part-whole” may correspond to the same 
objectively given thing. What is indicated by these 
examples may be expressed by saying that phenomen- 
ally, to a child, a man is not made up of his members, 
but the members belong to the man. Close ethno- 
logical parallels of this fact can be found. Thus, in 
many languages it is impossible to say merely “hand,” 
because hand is always the hand of a particular person. 

292 





{ 
: 








SPATIAL FACTORS 


If, for example, an Indian were to find an amputated 
arm, he could not say: “I have found an arm,” but he 
must say, “I have found of someone his arm” *!. 

Stern has pointed out a further peculiarity of infantile 
perception *"; namely, that toa child a form is much 
more independent of its absolute spatial position than it 
is to us adults. Children often look at their picture- 
books upside down without being in the least disturbed, 
and investigators have shown that pictures turned at 
an angle of ninety, or even one-hundred-and-eighty, 
degrees are as easily recognized as those in a normal 
position. This peculiarity continues for a long time. 
Even at the beginning of the school-period it may be 
noticed that many children copy the letters given them, 
not only in the right position, but in all possible 
positions; as for instance in mirror-writing, or upside 
down. Teachers who, at my request, have made obser- 
vations upon this subject, have reported that certain 
children can read mirror-writing at first just as well as 
they can ordinary writing ; which shows the difference 
between children and adults; for an adult finds it no 
easy task to read mirror-writing. Originally, then, a 
figure is in a high degree independent of its position, 
whereas for adults the absolute orientation of the figure 
is a very powerful factor. Right and left, above and 
below, become characteristic properties of the different 
members of the configuration ; and consequently of the 
total-form. A closer investigation of the development 
of this positional factor in children’s perceptions would 
certainly prove a stimulating and a valuable under- 
taking. One might suppose, for instance, that the 
well-known over-estimation of a square standing on a 
point, as compared with one of the same size lying on 
its side (Fig. 15), would not exist for children whose 
forms are as yet independent of spatial positions. 

This independence of figure and spatial position may 
be connected with the independence of figure and 
magnitude which has already been mentioned. The 


293 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


varying possibilities of formulating the perceptual world 
of an adult, according to form, magnitude, position and 
colour, all entering into one configuration which is 
determined in many ways, are to a child still more or 
less independent of one another. But we must not 
forget that even with us the connection is not so close 
as it would appear to be from a purely rational and 
logical consideration; for it would be too much to 
suppose that we adults complete all the configurations 
named, simultaneously and with the same degree of 
distinctness. On the contrary, we see in general much 
less in things than we might; and hence it is quite 
possible to see something large and dark, without being 


Fic. 15. 


able to specify its form or indicate its colour. To give 
a common, everyday example, one sees a man with 
very friendly little eyes, and yet has not the faintest 
notion whether they are blue or brown. 

As a final problem in the perception of form, the 
things in our environment may be seen from very 
different points of view, and in very different aspects, 
so that the same thing may be reflected upon the 
retina in a multiplicity of ways; yet just as in the case 
of colour and magnitude, the actual phenomenon as it 
is given to the naive individual fails to follow these 
changes; but instead a certain thing always appears 
with the same configurative qualities that are most 
characteristic of it. When I see a chair in such a 
position that only a corner of its seat is visible, and 
that this corner, when drawn in its true perspective, 


294 





: 


SPATIAL FACTORS 


would not be a right angle, still my perceptual pheno- 
menon is not at all that of an acute angle; for what 
I see is the corner as a part of the rectangular seat. 
One finds this to be true whenever one experiments 
with any sort of figure with which the observer is un- 
acquainted before the experiments are made. One also 
finds that the perceptual phenomenon does not follow 
the “aspect,” but shows a marked tendency to be seen 
as it actually is; that is, in a manner corresponding to 
its orthogonal appearance, with an orientation at right 
angles to the line of regard. This effect, like that of 
the constancy of colour and magnitude, is of such 
enormous importance in the construction of our percep- 
tion of the world as to justify us in calling it a constancy 
of form. Buhler finds here an analogy, which I think 
to be correct, between the perceptual constancy of form 
and the nature of our concepts 8%, 

From children’s drawings we can infer that this 
constancy of form becomes the child’s mode of per- 
ception at a very early age. If the child is called upon 
to draw a cube from memory, or from a model, or even 
from a plan in perspective (according to Katz), what he 
actually draws, as a rule, is a number of connected 
squares. Many adults, too—as for instance the author 
and his wife—if called upon to draw things which are 
not quite easy, like a chair, will ‘do exactly the same 
thing ; a fact which has been demonstrated experiment- 
ally by J. Wittmann *4, Again and again one tries to 
draw the back and seat of the chair as rectangles, and 
when the drawing fails to look right, one resorts to all 
manner of intellectual tricks ; because to perceive only 
a certain aspect of any thing is a task which can be 
achieved by many persons only after the greatest effort 
and practice. It is different with those who possess some 
talent in drawing ; for they learn with relative ease, some 
perhaps even without external aid; yet a correct appre- 
hension of the appearance of a thing is certainly neither 
a natural nor an original propensity. At first each thing 


295 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


has actually but one phenomenal appearance or, perhaps, 
in some cases a small number of appearances; and these 
succeed in maintaining themselves despite all changes 
of perspective. This prominent aspect of a thing is very 
“simple,” and perspicuous***. The question then arises: 
How does it happen that this simple form is maintained 
even when the objective conditions do not favour its 
arousal? One has been accustomed to call upon memory 
for an explanation ; thus Bihler states that a child is 
unable to extricate its immediate impressions of form 
from the influence of previous experience*®, That 
would seem to mean that without previous experience 
the child ought to see a thing exactly as it appears, and 
not orthoscopically, as Biihler calls it. Wittmann, too, 
thinks that under these conditions we apprehend, first 
of all, the actual objective appearance®’, I would 
suggest, however, that the explanation is not given by 
memory, or at least not primarily, but involves the laws 
whereby configurations are aroused, which indicate that 
certain forms are favoured from the start and that these 
forms are at the same time geometrically “simple” and 
physically significant**. Only in this way can one 
actually explain orthoscopic forms, because the instance 
in which a view in perspective furnishes an exact corre- 
spondence between just one face of the body and its 
orthoscopic appearance is so very infrequent that, strictly 
speaking, its probability is zero—one favourable instance 
as compared with an infinite number of unfavourable 
instances. The presumption then is that an object is 
first of all apprehended, that is to say, instead of remain- 
ing chaotic, it arouses a phenomenal configuration, 
whenever it happens to be seen in a way which favours 
orthoscopy. Thus a cube would be apprehended as such 
only when one happens to stand more or less parallel 
with its front; accordingly it will not be apprehended 
as a cube when one corner happens to be slanted 
forwards. After the orthoscopic configuration has once 
been aroused, however, it maintains itself with reference 


296 





SPATIAL FACTORS 


to quite different aspects, where the problem of con- 
figuration is more difficult; but even then the case is 
not one of simple memory ; for the objective aspect must 
also be reckoned with, especially when the appearance 
varies considerably from the orthoscopic view. And 
hence the object itself still exerts an influence upon the 
phenomenal configuration, so that either the orthoscopic 
form appears in an oblique position, or else a new form 
arises which stands between the orthoscopic and the 
perspective appearance. The constancy of form, there- 
fore, just as in the case of the constancy of magnitude, 
is not at all absolute. 

In the investigation of perception we have met with 
the same kind of functions in the constancy of colour, 
magnitude, and form. In all three we have rejected an 
explanation based on individual experience in the sense 
that experience means either the formation of new con- 
nections, or determinations having recourse to “appre- 
hension” and judgment. We have found, instead, 
certain laws of configural functions developing on the 
one hand through mere maturation—though not, to be 
sure, without stimulation—and on the other hand being 
recast, or newly created. These processes of recasting 
and creation may be called experiences, but experience 
in this sense becomes a concept which transcends the 
dispute over Empiricism and Nativism. In the adulta 
configural function is, in its phenomenal aspect, a fer- 
ceptual-experience in its own right; for it is neither a 
mere judgment, nor a mere apprehension of sensations. 
The development of these configurations can not be con- 
ceived as a simple combination of sensations, or as the 
outward manifestation of a juxtaposition of repeated 
sensations. On the contrary, we must either think of 
the configural function as a process which alters, refines, 
recentres, and enriches the configuration throughout its 
entire make-up—a procedure in which maturation par- 
ticipates very largely—or else we must regard it as the 
arousal of an entirely new configuration for which a 


297 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


“dispositional readiness” was previously present in the 
individual. These brief indications may suffice to 
supplement the ideas we began to develop on p. 81. 


§ 7—Continuation: The Categories of Perception 


Finally a very important group of problems can be 
mentioned, more by way of reference than for detailed 
discussion. These problems have to do with the for- 
mation of categories of perception. We adults perceive 
before us numerous things possessing the most varied 
properties, which stand in manifold relation to, and 
exert reciprocal influences upon, one another. How is 
it in the case of the young child? One answer to this 
question we must deny at the outset *°. The experience 
of a thing, with its significant features, and the processes 
which refer to cause and effect, can not be explained, as 
Hume maintained, as a mere conjunction of unrelated 
sensations. We have excluded these unrelated sensa- 
tions altogether from our psychology. What we have 
to deal with, then, is the arousal of particular kinds of 
configuration, and the real question, though at present 
we are unable to answer it with any degree of certainty, 
is how and when these forms arise. Stern believes that 
he can ascertain a development which takes place in 
three stages. “The different points of view from which 
the world is mastered are not acquired simultaneously 
by the child, but they appear successively and in a 
cumulative fashion, so that what is old remains and 
becomes enriched by the new that is added to it.... 
The first stage of thinking is ‘substantive’: from the 
chaos of unreflective experience the substantial is the 
first to work itself out into independently existing 
persons and things, as separate contents of thought. 
This stage is followed by a stage of ‘action,’ in which the 
activities of persons and things are isolated in thought 
so as to attract special interest. But not until the third 
stage, that of ‘relations’ ee properties,’ does the child 

29 





CATEGORIES OF PERCEPTION 


develop a capacity to separate from the things them- 
selves their inherent characteristics, and the varying 
relations which obtain among them”. According to 
Stern, these stages recur in each new kind of mental 
operation, so that a child may occupy simultaneously a 
high level with respect to an earlier accomplishment and 
a lower level with respect to a later one. Three such 
accomplishments which succeed one another, each having 
the same course of development, are: learning to speak, 
describing pictures, and remembering pictures. 

The first point to be noted in this citation is the 
ambiguity of Stern’s “chaos of unreflective experience.” 
If he means a chaos of unrelated sensations, he has made 
an assumption which we have already found reason to 
deny. It is also obvious that Stern’s categories do not 
apply to “thinking” alone; for without a doubt they 
occur first of all in perception. It is improbable that 
Stern means anything else, though it may be well to 
preclude a possible misunderstanding on the part of the 
reader. 

Aside from this point, however, there are certain 
objections to Stern’s position, although his work is un- 
doubtedly based upon a large number of observed facts. 
For instance, Biihler remarks that the sequence of cate- 
gories in later achievements can not at once be likened 
to the sequence of earlier accomplishments ™". 

It must also be remarked that “ properties” and “ re- 
lations” belong with different configurations. <A “pro- 
perty” or distinguishing feature is an evolution of the 
thing-pattern; as a thing emerges from its background 
it acquires internal articulation, without thereby losing 
anything of its unity or totality. The relation, on the 
contrary, refers in general to several already isolated 
wholes, and often quite directly to distinct things. And 
hence, there arises a larger whole which includes these 
separate things, so that in a certain sense we may con- 
sider the relation as the internal articulation within this 
larger whole. But the question still remains: How 


299 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


closely are these two principles of configuration—pro- 
perty and relation—dependent upon each other? 

We must also question, whether the substance-stage 
truly precedes all the others. “We know,” writes 
Buhler, “that from the beginning the attention of the 
child fastens directly upon movements and changes... . 
Is the comprehension of activity actually retarded in 
the child’s development?” I might also add that 
although the child’s first speech-sounds, exclusive of 
interjections, have a substantive character, neverthe- 
less, as Clara and William Stern themselves have pointed 
out with special emphasis, “the child’s units of speech 
do not belong to any particular word-group, because — 
they are not separate words, but sentences.” For this 
reason, Stern characterizes the first expressions of a 
child as “one-word sentences.” “The mama of a child 
can not be translated into ordinary speech by the unit- 
word mother, but only by a complete sentence such as, 
‘Mother come here,’ ‘Mother give me,’ ‘Mother put 
me on the chair,’ ‘Mother help me,’ etc.” Stern also 
observes that a modification in speech takes place when 
it becomes apparent to the child that each thing has a 
name—a process of development which we shall take 
up at the close of the chapter. It is here that the 
substance-stage first makes its appearance, apparently 
in consequence of the xame-function. Previously the 
state must have been different; for the active connec- 
tion of objects and persons must have been given 
without any definite discrimination of things and their 
effects. The first configuration of order, then, is un- 
doubtedly that of things; in this respect Stern’s three 
stages are justified, with the provision, however, that 
they do not arise from “unreflective chaos,” but from 
a kind of data which, though very primitive, are yet 
already formulated to the extent that both conscious 
things and their effects are contained within them. 

One must not suppose, however, that a “thing” 
means exactly the same to a young child that it does 

300 





SENSORI-MOTOR LEARNING 


to us; for toa child a thing and its effect can not be 
so sharply separated as they are in our thought. A 
mother, for example, is not only something which 
“looks so,” and “is so,’ but more exactly something 
which “does this,” “assists thus,” or “punishes so.” 
Nor does the effective side of a thing disappear when 
the child has attained the substance-stage of thought; 
for even causal connections which to us seem quite 
difficult, may be recognized early in the life of a child; 
although causality to a child is, of course, something 
quite different from what it is to us. For examples, a 
little girl of 111 remarked that “The wind make 
mamma’s hair untidy; Baba (her own name) make 
mamma’s hair tidy, so wind not blow adain (again)” 
(Sully); and a small boy of 2°7, holding his fingers 
before the sun, remarked that the “sun made his fingers 
bloody” (Scupin). We do not leave the field of per- 
ception here any more than we do in the perceptual 
configuration of an object. It would be quite mistaken 
too, I think, to say that in the first example the wind 
was perceived as one thing, and the moisture as another; 
or, in the second example, to say that the red appearance 
of the fingers and its connection with the sun was 
“thought out.” From the point of view of a child 
these effects are described as simple facts of perception, 
just as if there were a single object with all its character- 
istics. The category of causality, however, is a con- 
figuration which soon transcends perception. This 
change takes place when the child sees a thing, or 
some one of its characteristics, as an effect, and is thus 
led to ask after its cause. In this sense we shall have 
to concern ourselves with the category of causation 
later on. 


§ 8—Sensori-motor Learning: The First Achievements 
of Training and Intelligence 


Since we have studied the problem of achievement 


in the previous chapter, we need here consider only a 
301 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


few examples selected from infantile development. As 
an example of sensori-motor learning we have already 
referred to the maxim that a “burnt child shuns the 
fire.” In this case the matter seems to be much simpler 
than it is in cases where a positive achievement must be 
attained; for here one might suppose it possible to 
explain the result without reference to the problem of 
achievement. But as a matter of fact that is not true, 
for this case is only a significant representative of many 
infantile accomplishments, all of which must be treated 
exactly as we have treated other instances of learning ; 
a conclusion which becomes apparent as soon as we 
consider that a burnt moth does zof shun the fire. 
What we have called a “first achievement” is here an 
understanding that pain comes from fire, and that the 
flame which was at first so attractive and so desirable 
may become, through painful experience, something 
“dangerous” and “to be avoided.” A mere connec- 
tion between sense-impression and reaction, or even 
the destruction of any such original connection, would 
be an insufficient hypothesis; because a constructive 
achievement is here necessary, however little it may 
seem to demand of the individual. Consequently, if a 
child running about in a state of excitement should 
by chance get burned, he would learn nothing from 
his painful experience ; because, without the participa- 
tion of attention, learning does not take place. The 
chief function of pain in these experiences is to arouse 
attention and thus furnish favourable conditions for 
the construction of a new configuration. The with- 
drawal of the burned hand is naturally reflexive, but 
what is learned is not to withdraw the hand, but to 
avoid fire in the future; and in a state of inattention 
nothing at all is learned. 

This interpretation of the facts is also confirmed by 
the experiments Watson has made upon the acquisition 
of this reaction. For a long time (from the 150th to 
the 164th day of life) touching the flame, which caused 

302 


SENSORI-MOTOR LEARNING 


a reflexive flexion of the fingers and a withdrawal of the 
hand, had no effect of teaching the child to avoid the 
flame. On the 178th day the reaction was for the first 
time modified, and seemed to be distinctly inhibited ; 
but only on the 220th day had the transformation, which 
we have described, been fully accomplished. Then, 
instead of grasping for the candle, the child slapped at 
it, and after this new reaction had appeared, the child 
grasped at the flame but a single time ™, 

It is in this way that we must understand the simplest 
achievements of learning by animals; as, for example, 
in the instance previously described of the chick which 
learned to avoid pecking at evil-tasting cinnabar cater- 
pillars. K. Lewin in his war experiences has vividly 
described how things undergo a quite analogous change 
in us adults*; how, for instance, the “ homogeneous” 
landscape becomes “limited” and “directed” as one 
approaches the firing-line; and how a transformation 
again occurs as one leaves a position behind him, so 
that suddenly what was just now a “ position” becomes 
merely an acre of ground. These are analogies of the 
process as it presents itself in a most primitive form. 
In the initial stages of its development the child learns 
a tremendous amount; much, indeed, at the level Biihler 
calls training or “ drill,’ though from our point of view we 
must always presuppose acertain degree of understand- 
ing. This statement is also true of accomplishments 
for which one might perhaps more appropriately reserve 
the term “training,” since they are essentially meaning- 
less to the child. We refer here to types of behaviour 
instigated chiefly by adults for their own amusement. 
For instance, one asks a child to do something, or to 
“say please,’ or to “ tell us how big you are,” etc. 
Configurations of this sort are quite vague. A certain 
child, who had been trained to respond to the sentence: 
“Bring the butter,” by fetching the dish, did so at the 
age of 1'4 when the father said, “That’s a butterball.” 
A still younger child of six to eight months who had 

303 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


learned to turn his head in response to the question 
“Wo ist das Fenster?” made the same seeking-move- 
ments when the question, “ot est la fenétre?” was 
asked in a similar tone of voice, It is not the total 
sensory complex with its complete membership which 
constitutes these configurations, but only a significant 
accent, or perhaps the crude total form. 

Soon, however, problems arise in the everyday life of 
the child similar to those which Koéhler’s chimpanzees 
were required to solve. One may therefore inquire 
when and how the first actual achievements of intel- 
ligence arise. Kohler himself has reported a few 
observations made upon young children in experiments 
like those he employed in his tests of apes, Biihler has 
likewise followed with experiments of this order. Biihler 
began his tests when his child was nine months old, by 
a clever employment of the child’s playful grasping 7, 
The infant sat upright in his bed and grasped at every- 
thing within reach, in order that he might bring it to 
his mouth. The behaviour of grasping was then made 
systematically more difficult. A piece of rusk was 
placed slightly out of reach, with a string attached to 
it which came within reaching distance. In another 
experiment an ivory ring with which the child was 
accustomed to play was placed over an upright rod 
about as large as one’s finger, from which the child had 
to lift it. The principles employed in these experi- 
ments are already familiar from the description given 
of Kéhler’s procedure, At the beginning of his ninth 
month the child was unable to make use of a string 
connected with an object ; instead he always “ stretched 
his arm directly towards the biscuit without observing 
the string. If, by chance, the string was grasped in 
the hand, it was either let go or pushed aside. Only 
in two sittings did he appear to comprehend the con- 
nection, which enabled him to perform numerous correct 
solutions promptly one after the other. I still think 
that the child did comprehend the situation on these 

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SENSORI-MOTOR LEARNING 


two occasions, though at the following sitting all had 
been forgotten.” Not until the end of the tenth month 
did the child really “comprehend” the situation well 
enough so that one could let the string lead out in any 
direction, and still he would immediately grasp it and 
fetch the biscuit. Bihler was able to exclude the 
possibility of this behaviour being an accidental achieve- 
ment. The result, therefore, is of interest in several 
respects. We may call particular attention to the 
anticipation involved in the first two instances of 
success ; an example of which has also been given in 
connection with the investigation of apes (cf. p. 195). 
Similar anticipations have been frequently observed 
in cases of “sensori-motor” development, and we have 
already emphasized the theoretical significance of this 
concept (cf. above p. 263). 

In harmony with Koéhler’s results, the child found 
the removal of a ring from a peg a much more difficult 
task. The act was not successful until the middle of the 
second year, but the comprehension of the act was then 
so complete that a key was immediately taken from a 
nail, and a hat from a cane. 

Kohler performed the detour-experiment with a little 
girl of 1°3 who had been walking alone for only a few 
weeks. The child was placed at the end of a blind 
alley two metres long and a metre-and-a-half wide. 
Beyond the restraining partition lay an attractive object, 
in plain sight but not within her immedjate reach. “The 
child first pushed as close to the object as the wall 
would allow; then after looking slowly around, examin- 
ing the whole length of the alley, she suddenly gave a 
satisfied laugh and in one trial made the circuit around 
the wall to the goal” *, 

With children, as well as with chimpanzees, it is much 
more difficult to make a detour with the aid of a tool. 
Kohler used the detour-board (in the normal position— 
the open side of the enclosure being at the greatest 
distance from the child—cf. above p. 187) in an experi- 


305 U 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


ment with a boy aged 21, who had shown that he 
could readily make detours in his bodily movements. 
But the boy, who was of average intelligence, was un- 
successful in his performance with a stick. Like the 
chimpanzees under similar conditions, he gave vent to 
his desire for the unattainable object, by throwing 
both his stick and his belt at it ™, 

Kohler also found a correspondence between the be- 
haviour of young children and chimpanzees with respect 
to building operations and the handling of a coiled rope 
(cf. p. 197). In building, children have at first the same 
difficulty chimpanzees have in putting one thing upon 
another, and they fumble about in the most curious 
manner. At the close of the third year, however, a 
child will have learned to comprehend the simplest of 
these achievements, whereas apes make scarcely any 
real progress even after abundant practice. Since the 
correct manipulation of a rope may be attributed to a 
visual achievement, the awkwardness of children, which 
can be observed up to the fourth year, and even later, 
may therefore depend in part upon the fact that a 
wound-up rope does not yet constitute an adequate 
visual configuration for them. 

A pretty incidental observation made by Preyer 
furnishes from child-life an analogy to the “employment 
of a box” by apes. Preyer’s seventeen-months-old 
child was unable to reach his playthings from a high 
cupboard, so “he ran about, brought a travelling bag, 
got upon it, and took what he wanted” *, 

It is to be hoped that these methods of investigation, 
which have now been perfected in principle, will be 
systematically employed as a means of penetrating more 
deeply into the development of infantile achievements, 


§ 9—Continuation: The Problem of Imitation 


Most of the child’s achievements are acquired, not in 
the artificial isolation of an experiment, but in connec- 


306 





THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


tion with an environment which already dominates the 
achievements themselves. It is here that we meet with 
the important problem of zmztation. Few questions 
have been so much disputed as this one. While many 
investigators of imitation concede it a dominant position 
among the influences affecting the child’s development, 
others would exclude it altogether. It is impossible 
that this disagreement should arise from different con- 
ceptions of imitation; because the concept has been 
analyzed very thoroughly and in many different ways, 
American writings in particular are full of different 
classifications of imitation which bring out all its 
characteristic aspects. (A few of the investigators of 
this subject are: Lloyd Morgan, Thorndike, Berry, 
Watson, McDougall, and Stern.) To state the problem 
as I see it, imitation involves (1) configurations already: 
belonging to an individual’s equipment which are made 
to function by the performance of an act of the same 
kind on the part of another individual; (2) imitation 
may also be the arousal of a mew configuration in an 
individual when he perceives some one else acting in a 
certain manner. Both types can be subdivided. Under 
the first type we can distinguish (a) instinctive, and (4) 
acquired configurations ; and under the second type we 
can define the level of the achievement demanded by 
the new configuration. To illustrate: (1a) A bird, 
seeing danger, emits a cry of warning, and this cry is 
repeated by other birds to whom the original cause is 
not perceptible. (12) A familiar melody which one has 
heard may be involuntarily repeated. Performances at 
a low level of type 2 are those of repeating words never 
before heard—or, indeed, making any responses of an 
essentially motor nature. A performance at a higher 
level would be that of comprehending from a model 
how to solve a problem. In this connection we might 
think of the problems in KGhler’s experiments. Extreme 
variations are possible in the perfection of these new 
achievements, because the new configuration aroused in 


307 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


imitation may be far less complete than its model; it 
may be far less precise; or it may even miss the point 
of the imitated action altogether. 

It seems to me that this classification includes the 
important differentiation with respect to the nature of 
imitation which Lloyd Morgan has pointed out. We 
can perhaps characterize this difference by saying that | 
imitation may either be of a movement or of a series of 
movements, or it may be of a purposive action. For a 
long time animal-psychologists have looked only for the 
first of these types, and when they failed to find it, have 
concluded that there can be no general capacity for 
imitation. Thus, as an argument against imitation, 
Thorndike cites the case of a cat which pulled the loop 
with his paws, whereas the cat “(whom he saw) pulled 
the loop with his teeth.” Berry, however, points out 
the fallacy of this argument, since it holds only for the 
imitative repetition of the movement ™, 

The distinction we have now made is, of course, 
subordinate to the main division previously drawn; 
because the higher the type of configuration arising 
through imitation, the more readily can the imitation be 
characterized with reference to the end sought. On the 
other hand, the more superficial the configuration is, the 
more the imitation is apt to be characterized as merely 
one of movement. The differentiation in configurations 
which here comes into consideration was discussed in 
the last section of the previous chapter (cf. p. 230 ff.). 
Just as drill-performances differ from intelligent per- 
formances, so the imitation of a highly significant action 
will differ from one of lesser significance. The more a 
performance is of a purely motor nature, and the more 
it depends upon inherited, or instinctive, configurations, 
the more it will appear to be a mere imitation of the 
movements being made. Yet even here, if one compares 
the movement imitated with its imitation, it is the 
integrated movement-melody of each which stands forth 
as being the common apne A photographic repro- 

30 





THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


duction of the separate movements involved is never 
found. If an organism attempts to flee because it sees 
other organisms flee, what it imitates is the act of flight 
as a whole, and not the movements of the limbs them- 
selves. In like manner, when I yawn quite involuntarily 
upon seeing some one else yawn (an example of the 
most primitive type of imitation), 1 open my mouth in 
my way, not in his way ; for what I imitate is yawnzng, 
and not the movements of the other person’s jaws, 
Hence the difference emphasized by Lloyd Morgan 
turns out to be, not a difference in kind but in degree, 
both of precision, and of the complexity of the con- 
figuration. It is, therefore, a difference whose importance 
is greatest when we are dealing with the question of 
learning by imitation. 

Hitherto, whenever one spoke of instinctive imitation, 
one meant something quite different; namely, the con- 
nection between the perception which initiates the move- 
ment, and the movement carried out. How does it 
happen that a bird will repeat a cry of warning? This 
reaction has been considered an instinctive disposition by 
Lloyd Morgan and Stern ; whereas other writers, such as 
Groos and Thorndike, refuse to accept this explanation, 
though they are unable to furnish a better one*”. The 
problem of imitation for Thorndike is naturally quite 
unsolvable, because he has built his entire explanation 
of behaviour upon the theory of neurone-connections, 
A common imitative disposition, then, would require a 
web of neurone-connections so highly complicated that 
Thorndike feels justified in rejecting it as altogether 
improbable. Groos also rejects the imitative disposition 
for similar reasons. Thorndike accepts, however, the 
instinctive release of a whole series of single movements, 
all of which would fall under our Group Ia. 

Since we have rejected a theory of behaviour, includ- 
ing instinct, in terms of connections between neurones, 
to assume now an instinct of imitation as being a direct 
arousal of a movement by means of perceiving the same 


399 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


movement, would be only one way of avoiding any 
explanation at all. I do not think we need be so 
sceptical, At the beginning of this chapter we became 
acquainted with a law of reproduction which indicates 
that a configuration once given provides favourable 
conditions for the arousal of the same or of a similar 
configuration ; and the behaviour of infants is altogether 
consistent with this law. Stern, following Baldwin, 
regards self-imitation as the first type of imitation to 
appear. A child will repeat the same reaction in end- 
less monotony, whether it be a new manipulation or a 
vocal utterance. Since, according to Stern, this reaction 
starts as a purely motor mechanism, a connection is 
gradually formed between the movement and its per- 
ceptual result, so that in time the result itself will arouse 
the movement, thus giving rise to what Baldwin calls 
a circular activity: R—-P—-R—P, where R is the move- 
ment of reaction and P the perception of this movement, 
or its result. On this hypothesis self-imitation is reduced 
to an associative connection. The fact that deaf children 
babble shows that utterances may occur altogether with- 
out the aid of hearing ; yet the ear soon begins to play 
an important part in this behaviour, as indicated by the 
fact that the deaf babble less, and do not modulate their 
babbling like normal children®*”. It is highly improbable 
that the connection between hearing and utterance is 
acquired only by an external association. The de- 
pendency of our speech-apparatus upon hearing is 
actually much more direct. Many years ago Kohler 
called attention to the human capacity of singing a tone 
after it is heard; a capacity which is possessed to a 
remarkable degree by adults, and also by children ata 
very early age—having been observed even before the 
close of the first year of life. At the same time, Kéhler 
sketched an explanatory hypothesis to cover the origin 
of this capacity. The following examples will indicate 
its early appearance among children. Preyer reports a 
little girl who could sing a tone struck on the piano 
310 





2 ae eS el 


THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


correctly in her ninth month, and who, together with 
two of her sisters, sang before she could speak. Stumpf 
also tells of a little daughter of the well-known com- 
poser, Dvorak, who, at the age of one-and-a-half years, 
could sing melodies with piano-accompaniment quite 
correctly, even when they were rather difficult; and 
who in her first year began to repeat the march from 
“Fatinitza” after her nurse *™, 

That the relation of hearing to vocal utterance can 
not be a matter of mere associative connection, is also 
shown by other vocalic imitations. Long before they 
understand speech, children will imitate words more or 
less clearly which they have not yet spoken spon- 
taneously; and we have already called attention to 
the fact that vocalizations which occur spontaneously 
may be imitated at a very early age. (Cf. above 
p. 258.) Stern’s daughter repeated papa at nine months 
for the first time, although this vocalization had not 
before appeared in her babbling monologue. In 
general, however, imitation at this age is practised 
more frequently with inarticulate noises: smackings, 
crunchings, and vocal cadences. In this connection 
we have an observation of Humphrey, reported by 
Preyer: “When about four months old the child 
began a curious and amusing mimicry of conversa- 
tion, in which she so closely imitated the ordinary 
cadences that persons in an adjacent room would 
mistake it for actual conversation.” The articulation, 
vocalic organization, etc., was of course very incom- 
plete. The performance is in some ways analogous 
to the repetition of true melodies, and certainly can 
not be explained in terms of associations previously 
acquired. At the time when speech is being learned, 
there begins a period of echolalia in which the child 
repeats with tireless continuation all the words or 
sentences it hears; either completely, or else their 
closing cadences**. This practice, and the direction 
it takes, are also very characteristic; for the child tries 

311 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


to make his imitations more and more like his models. 
In order to explain this behaviour, Claparede finds him- 
self constrained to postulate an “instinct to conform ” *” ; 
but this explanation carries us no further than the 
assumption of an instinct to imitate. The facts recited 
have a general bearing, however, for parrots utter 
sentences chiefly with reference to their typical caden- 
tial characteristics, and one can also notice that they 
practise until their imitations become more and more 
perfect. 

If we could but assume an immediate structural 
connection between the perception and the movement, 
all these facts would be readily understood. The per- 
ceptual configuration would then reproduce the con- 
figuration of the movement, because of their inherent 
similarity ; and the movement would then be a phe- 
nomenal copy of the perception, since the connection 
between these two distinct configurations (perception 
and movement)—which we have described as the repro- 
duction of one by means of the other—must also 
involve a more or less definite and intimate structural 
connection. This connection, too, is shown by the fact 
reported above (p. 258), that an act which a child is 
able to carry out spontaneously, is made with much 
more trouble, and with much less completeness, when 
it is aroused by imitation. When the whole structure 
has attained a certain degree of firmness, this will be 
indicated by the stability of its separate members, 
The child then hears the spoken sound as something 
which is to be imitated, and he speaks in order to 
imitate the sound, hearing his own voice “as a more 
or less good replica of what he has heard.” If the 
replica is “less good” it has the characteristic of in- 
completeness—of something lacking—an idea already 
familiar to us, and which of itself indicates that the 
performance is not yet over; that the organization can 
not stop here, since an end is attained only when the 
spoken sound has become a good copy of its model, 

312 





THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


In this way the configuration of a model and its imi- 
tation attains a state of equilibrium. There appears 
to be no need of a special instinct to explain this 
adaptation ; because we are able to refer it, not only 
to the general laws of Psychology, but also to the laws 
of Physics**. Furthermore, this connection between 
perception and movement is of the same order as that 
which enables us to perceive the nature of the mental 
processes of others (cf. p. 21). 

We have assumed the possibility of a configurative 
connection between perception and movement, and we 
have conceived this connection in terms of relatedness, 
or similarity. It may, however, be of quite a different 
sort. When any one is solving a problem in my presence, 
I am able to imitate him if I understood the solution. 
In other words, if the perceptual configuration is pro- 
perly aroused, so that, for instance, something previously 
indifferent now becomes the focus in which I apprehend 
the whole figure, the solution of the problem is immedi- 
ately possible. There is nothing mysterious in the fact 
that a proper sequence of movements will follow upon 
such a perception. That is to say, we find here no 
special problem apart from the general one; how a 
voluntary act takes place at all—which we shall not now 
undertake to decide. I will give an example of this 
type of response. Ina game of forfeits, which children 
like to play, one child receives a spoon from another 
and passes it on to his neighbour with-the words, 
“Tirum-Larum Loffelstiel, wer das nicht kann, der kann 
nicht viel.” The game is to receive and to pass the 
spoon along just as it was passed by the one who first 
held it; for instance, the spoon should be received with 
the left hand and passed on with the right. Whoever 
makes a mistake must give a forfeit. It is very interest- 
ing to observe how children, who do not yet know the 
game, learn it; the point being to find out what it is 
all about. This is the sole difficulty; as soon as the 
trick is comprehended, the problem is solved. The 

343 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


connection between the perceptual configuration and 
the movement to be made is therefore not itself a problem 
ofimitation ; because the imitation is essentially achieved 
as soon as the perceptual configuration arises in observing 
the other’s behaviour. The problem with which we are 
here engaged does not involve our second form of imita- 
tion at its higher level; because the movement was 
already intended before the behaviour of the other person 
had been seen. A chimpanzee who attains its fruit by 
imitation is already intent upon attaining it before the 
other animal has shown him how the act can be done. 
Similarly, when playing a game of forfeits the child is 
from the start intent upon doing the right thing. But 
there are also instances of another sort in which the 
perception of the response calls forth an intention to 
carry it out; as, for instance, when a child of o'11 dusts 
off a chair after seeing some one else do so, Yet even 
here we have nothing incomprehensible; because in 
grasping completely what has taken place, the connec- 
tion of the result with the movement is at once appre- 
~ hended, and consequently the perceptual configuration 
will itself lead to an imitation of the movement. Onecan 
explain this behaviour from different points of view. 
In the first place, the procedure has a certain similarity 
to the configurative supplementation spoken of at the 
beginning of this chapter; the movement is carried out 
because it is a part of the configuration. This would 
also explain the fact that it is so difficult to pass by a 
piano, a letter-box, or a door-bell, without striking a 
key, opening the box, or pushing the button. Such a 
law, when applied to perceptual configurations, would 
constitute the factual content of a law formulated by 
James, Wundt, and others—the so-called ideo-motor 
law which Groos employs as the chief principle in the 
explanation of imitation, and which Thorndike, in turn, 
has so energetically opposed. The law states that every 
idea involves a tendency to movement, and is therefore 
itself capable of producing its appropriate response, 


314 





THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


But one might also suppose that the impulse to carry 
out a copied action involves another law of configuration, 
which has to do with a tendency towards precision and 
fixity. 

In reality this group of intended responses seems to 
stand between the two types of imitation previously 
discussed. In “intelligent” imitation, the model serves 
only to make possible the arousal of a correct per- 
ceptual configuration. The transformation into move- 
ment requires no explanation, because the intention to 
perform the act was present independently of the model. 
In the first type of imitation, however, which may be 
illustrated by babbling, the model not only arouses 
the perception but also the impulse to imitate; and the 
transition from the perceptual to the responsive con- 
figuration is thus problematic. In the case mentioned 
of dusting a chair, the model furnishes both the per- 
ception and the impulse, and the transition from 
perception to movement requires an explanation no 
more than it did in the first type, because it belongs 
to the “understanding” of the act to be imitated. 
Since the question of imitation itself is no longer 
involved, what is done is not directly an imitation of 
the movement made by another, but falls under the 
direction of the configuration perceived. 

If a baby in its thirty-eighth week can strike two 
spoons together after seeing its mother do so,” we 
shall have to assume that the infant’s comprehension of 
the mother’s action is sufficient to call forth the appro- 
priate movement ; which is certainly no more of a riddle, 
and also no less of a riddle, than intelligent imitation. 

With respect to the most primitive type of imita- 
tion we must therefore conceive the connection exist- 
ing between the perceptual and motor aspects of the 
entire configuration as being of a peculiar intimacy. 
That we may and must accept this hypothesis for 
verbal and tonal imitation, has already been pointed 
out *©; and there is no essential difference between 


315 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


these and other modes of behaviour. At first, imita- 
tion has to do with expressive movements. In the 
middle of the child’s first year of life he can be made 
to smile by smiling at him, and likewise made to cry 
by appearing to cry before him. Even Thorndike 
recognizes an immediate and authentic imitation in the 
case of these expressive movements; including, indeed, 
a large number of others of the same sort, among 
which may be mentioned pursing the lips, which was 
imitated by Preyer’s son at the close of his fifteenth 
week. We have noted, however, in an earlier chapter 
that the emotions and their expressive movements must 
somehow be very intimately connected (cf. above p. 117), 
so that the transition from perception to movement 
must also rest upon this intimacy of the configurations 
involved. 

Although we have not solved our problem, we believe 
we have indicated where the solution is to be sought, 
and how the connection takes place between lower and 
higher types of behaviour. The problem of imitation 
has thus been reduced to a very general problem of 
configuration ; namely, how any perception can issue in 
movement. It is possible that the law of configurative 
supplementation, as well as the law of the repetition of 
figures, are both effective here. But there may also be 
other laws or peculiar emphases involved. 

Since an intention to imitate can have various causes, 
we are led to the differentiation of two sets of problems: 
first, the necessity of imitating, and secondly, the ability 
to imitate. The whole problem of imitation has some: 
times been considered as though imitation were com- 
pulsory; but that is a very one-sided view, for the 
essence of imitation is to be found in ability to imitate. 
It is no criterion of imitation to say that its inten- 
tion arises entirely from perceiving the act of another. 
When a child learning to speak imitates everything he 
hears, this is certainly not a matter of “compulsory” 
imitation, because it is only what he says that is deter- 


316 


ee ee ee ee ee eee 





Wewt-., 


THE PROBLEM OF IMITATION 


mined by the acts of another. Of course it is important 
to realize that a compulsion to imitate also exists, but 
this should be understood as something which arises 
from ability to imitate. To be able to imitate means 
that a perceptual configuration may acquire a definite 
influence over a certain type of action ; while the im- 
pulse to do anything at all may arise from some other 
source. It is clear that the more primitive an organism 
is, and the fewer factors there are to determine its acts, 
the greater must be the influence exerted by the con- 
figuration of what is perceived. There must therefore 
be a gradual transition from an ability to imitate to the 
necessity of imitating; for at best the model imitated 
is only the strongest among a number of other factors 
which might determine an impulse to act*4. Even in 
quite primitive cases of simple “susceptibility,” this is 
true. When I am fresh I can quietly observe another 
person yawning without feeling obliged to yawn my- 
self, but when I am tired his yawning not only deter- 
mines what I shall do, but also ¢kat I shall doit. If I 
am very angry or very sorrowful I am less susceptible 
to another’s laughter than I might otherwise be. It 
therefore seems to me that the problem of compulsory 
imitation is of less importance than the problem of 
ability to imitate. 

Let us now pass from the general problem of imitation 
to the special one of learning by imitation. Here we 
have two possibilities. In the first, the individual learns 
by imitation to perform an already familiar act in a new 
situation. Imitation would then take the form ta or 
14, and would occur without comprehension, being 
understood only after the movement was made. But 
imitation may also occur in accordance with the second 
form we have distinguished, in which case the imitation 
itself introduces a new configuration. It would appear 
from the facts as we know them that learning by 
imitation is essentially of this second type. At the 
lower stages babbling and verbal repetitions are clearly 


317 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


of this order. But even in other respects learning by 
imitation seems to be of this kind. The results which 
bear upon imitation in animal-experiments are not 
altogether in agreement, yet this much at least may be 
said with assurance: that although imitation is infre- 
quent, when it does occur it is highly significant. Many 
of the negative results obtained in experiments on 
imitation are probably attributable to the fact that the 
investigator was looking in vain for an imitative per- 
formance at a very low level. Berry points out that 
his cats imitated only when they understood the act to 
be copied; and Kohler writes as follows: “If once ina 
while an animal, before whom a solution has been 
carried out, is suddenly able to accomplish the task 
without having previously indicated any conception of 
what was to be done, one can hardly refrain at that 


moment from estimating the animal’s intelligence very 


highly. Unfortunately one sees this very rarely, even 
in the chimpanzee, and then only when the situation and 
its solution fall approximately within the same limits 
that circumscribe the animal’s spontaneous behaviour”?!2, 

Observations made upon children seem also to point 
in this direction. Mrs Moore expressly states that the 
boy whom she observed did not imitate to any extent 
until he had begun to understand other peoples’ actions, 
and similar indications are given in Stern’s observation 
that the continual repetition of speech only begins after 
an interest in, and a comprehension of, speech has 
already taken place. 

Learning by imitation is, however, easier than spon- 
taneous learning, and certain accomplishments like 
speaking and writing could not be learned at all without 
the aid of imitation. Somehow the situation is “im- 
proved” by the presence of a model; both because the 
point of attack for the solution is emphasized, and also 
because the individual becomes more attentive to things 
which were not previously connected with the situation. 
Imitation becomes much easier when the action to be 


318 


EE Sl ee ee ee ee Se 


. 
EE — 


IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


copied can be presented with the aid of language, so 
that its essential features can be pointed out and clearly 
perceived. But it is no art to imitate movements which 
have already been learned or comprehended ; as Kéhler 
remarks, chimpanzees also imitate without difficulty 
under these conditions. 

In this sense, imitation is a powerful factor in develop- 
ment. Most of the things we learn are acquired, not 
through our own discovery, but through the compre- 
hension of models or, in later years, by means of in- 
structions expressed in language. Apprehension in this 
way constantly becomes an easier achievement ; though 
in the beginning imitation is scarcely less difficult than 
a new discovery. Despite these difficulties, man never 
learns so much in the same period of time as he does 
when a child; and in childhood learning is always an 
achievement of a high order. Therefore one should not 
speak thoughtlessly of the actions of a “mere child,” 
but ought rather to respect the period of childhood on 
account of the extraordinary fullness of its achievements, 


§ 10—Jdeational Learning: The First Use of Language 
and tts Problems 


We turn now to the final aspect of learning, which we 
have called ideational. Perhaps the greatest number of 
problems, and certainly the most difficult ones, fall 
under this heading ; for it is through ideational learning 
that man frees himself from the perception of things 
present to his senses, and thus attains his mastery over 
the world. We shall consider here but a few problems 
that can be set within the framework we have already 
constructed. Many questions arise in this connection 
which, though they have been hotly debated, have not 
been satisfactorily explained by general psychology. 
We shall avoid these controversies as far as possible, 
referring the reader to the seventeenth chapter of 
Bihler’s book for a statement of the points at issue, 


3t9 


< 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


Our consideration may be prefaced by the following 
remark: The distinctions we have drawn, in order that 
we might trace the course of learning through individual 
performances, are so fluid that even when we are speak- 
ing of ideational learning we are always in the closest 
contact with learning of the perceptual and sensori- 
motor types. As we have already seen, the most 
important categories appear first in perception. 

We have now to consider the child’s progress in 


learning to speak, for language is our most important» 


material of thought. With language we can transcend 
the present; with its aid we recall the past and 
anticipate the future. What do we know about this 
development which carries the human being so far? 
Unless observations have deceived us, there is a time 
about the middle of the second year of life—subject to 
considerable individual variation—in which the child’s 
vocal expression undergoes a sudden development. 
Previous to this time, single words have been spoken 


as one-word sentences with a wish- or affective-character, » 


although for several months the child’s primitive vocabu- 
lary may not have increased very noticeably.** Now 
a sudden increase is noticeable in the number of 
words employed by the child, in connection with which 
the “name-question” appears as a typical phenomenon. 
The child points to all kinds of objects, asks “ Wa’s 
’at?” and is satisfied when their names are told him. 
The name-question seems to be the more important 
- factor and the one upon which progress is chiefly based, 
for it may happen—as in the case of Stern’s son—that 
an interval of some months will elapse between the 
appearance of these definite name-questions and the 
child’s own use of the names which are given him in 
reply. 

The progress here taking place has been characterized 
by Clara and William Stern in the following way: The 
child now makes the most important discovery of his life 
which ts that everything has a name. Bihler also em- 

320 


5 NS 


: 





——. ee. CU 


IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


phasizes this conclusion, regarding the performance as 
a “discovery,” whose real nature he then proceeds to 
analyze *"*, 

Still a third peculiarity of this period may be men- 
tioned, which differentiates it from the preceding period, 
and which shows conclusively that a transformation has 
occurred in the child’s mode of relating the word to the 
world, or more particularly, the word to the thing. The 
general content of the one-word, and later of the 
multiple-word, sentence, which originally was but an 
expression of desire or emotion, is now itself altered. 
Along with these affective expressions, “material” de- 
terminations appear; that is, most of the child’s talk is 
concerned with zamzng things. This is evidenced, first, 
by the fact that the use of interjections develops but 
little during this time, whereas the substantives, em- 
ployed in these “ objective” appellations, undergo rapid 
growth. The change is also manifest in the following 
displacement: Whereas substantives were previously 
employed as expressions of volition, interjections and 
words of demand are now used as substantive designa- 
tions. “The word please gradually became for Hilda a 
designation for the material object ‘roll, even when the 
_ object was not asked for. Similarly, the exclamation 
siete (look), which had often been connected with the 
gesture of the out-stretched index-finger, finally came 
to serve as a name for the hand in this position. (At 
19 our daughter cried, /auter stete [much look] when 
she saw a number of hands so depicted in an advertise- 
ment.**)” This citation from Stern indicates the tran- 
sition to the real sudbstance-stage, of which we have 
already made note. 

At this period of infantile development, the word 
frees itself from the wish-affective-relationship and enters 
into a new relation with ¢kzmgs. Things must have been 
present in the form of relatively firm and fixed configura- 
tions even before this time ; for no one would or could 
assume that thing-configurations develop only in con- 

321 x 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


nection with their names. The behaviour of the child 
during his pre-lingual period would certainly not warrant 
such an assumption. To be sure, naming is not without 
its effect upon the thing-configuration. If the question 
is asked how the first perception of a thing arises in the 
child, we may answer negatively that it would be wrong 
to suppose that the “thing” is nothing but a mere 
connection of various visual, gustatory, and auditory 
attributes resulting from frequent repetition; as, for 
instance, that the thing “mother” is a conjunction of 
the different “ views of the mother” plus the impressions 
which the child gets from feeling its mother, and from 
hearing its mother’s voice. On the other hand, we can 
say positively that “thing” means a definite kind of con- 
figuration in which the world appears to the child; a 
configuration whose connected membership is much 
firmer, much more intimately bound together, and the 
whole much more definitely particularized, than any 
mere set of external connections would allow. It is 
also a feature of the thing-concept that its configuration 
should have a core, or centre, to which the members of 
the configuration adhere in a definite manner ; in other 
words, a thing has its attributes. It has often been 
remarked that nothing remains of a thing when its 
attributes are removed. But the inference that a thing 
is nothing but the swm of all its attributes would be just 
as false as the assertion that a forest is nothing but the 
sum of allits trees. Just as in the case of the forest, 
the essential factor is the community of life; so, too, in 
the category of things it is a peculiar kind of cohesion 
which counts most; and this can be described psycho- 
logically in no other way than by stating that these 
variable attributes adhere to a stable core. We are 
therefore led to assume that the thing is not constituted 
or constructed in the course of development out of pre- 
viously existing attributes, but rather that the arousal ofa 
thing-configuration means that a definite “figural core” 
enters into the child’s phenomenal world. Certainly, 
322 





IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


the core is more original than the sum of its attributes, 
and since the organization of the thing takes place 
gradually, its separate attributes must appear very 
slowly. Therefore, the thing does not originate in “non- 
thingness,” but rather replaces “non-thingness.” In 
answering the question how a given datum may first 
appear as a thing, we should assign an important rdéle 
to frequency of repetition. A frequent recurrence of 
the same, or of a very similar, datum will result in 
causing this datum to emerge sooner from the original 
chaos as a specific figure. This much can be gathered 
from the investigation of Brod and Weltsch**; but the 
influence of repetition here implied is quite different 
from the one which we have previously denied. 

Once a thing-configuration has arisen, it may recur 
under entirely new conditions. When the child can see 
its mother as a thing, he will also see a stranger who 
frightens him as a thing. When the child is able to 
comprehend his milk-bottle as a thing, he can also com- 
prehend in the same way a new rattle which he has just 
received as a gift. The case of causality is a similar 
one, and Bihler has pointed out*” that the causal 
relation develops, not from uniformities, but from what- 
ever excites wonder. During the period of time in 
which this enormous progress in the development of 
speech occurs, the thing-configuration must already have 
developed to some extent; so that the child already 
possesses certain stable configurations having definite 
but shifting members which correspond to the variable 
attributes of one and the same thing. 

The naming of objects is a discovery or invention of 
the child; and Buhler stresses the point that this is a 
perfect parallel to the inventions of chimpanzees *8, 
Since we have already recognized invention as an act 
of configuration, it follows that naming can also be re- 
garded as a configurative achievement ; accordingly, we 
may infer that the word enters into the thing-pattern 
just as the stick enters into the animal’s situation of 


323 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


“ desire-to-get-fruit.” It is then quite easy to assume 
that a word acts like any other member in incorporating 
itself into the pattern of a thing; or in other words, that 
the name becomes an attribute of the thing—a possi- 
bility which Biihler has also considered. The name 
would then become a definite attribute of the thing, 
though it is at the same time a “variable” ; because the 
thing can also be seen without hearing or seeing its 
name. So, too, are the mother’s eyes a shifting attri- 
bute of her face, since they become invisible when 
her head is turned. This variability holds true for 
unsophisticated adults; for a blue dress retains its 
blueness even when its colour can no longer be seen 
in the darkness. Yet the name is a peculiar kind of 
attribute, in that anything may possess it. Thus, a 
child can supplement anything with a name, and the 
name will then become the most pronounced character 
of the thing. In this way the ascription of a name may 
prepare the way for a further organization of the thing’s 
attributes. 

Even in our adult experience the fact that the name 
is an attribute of a thing, is not so strange as might at 
first be thought; for object and name do not always 
stand in such an external relationship as they do in 
cases where we call the mass m, the velocity v, etc. A 
little joke will best explain what I mean by this. Ina 
conversation on the value of different languages, Mr Y 
finally says: “The English language is the best, and I 
can prove it toyou. Take the word kuzfe,; the French 
call it couteau, the Germans messer, the Danes kuzv, 
while the English say knife, and that’s what it really 
is ” 319 

Certain facts from folk-psychology may also be cited 
in support of the hypothesis that a name is primarily 
the attribute of a thing. In primitive society the name 
given to a child is neither arbitrary, nor is it left to the 
fancy or discretion of the child’s parents. Indeed, the 
name is not gzven at all; for since the child is only the 


324 








IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


reincarnation of a defunct ancestor, it already has a 
name when it comes into the world. But among many 
primitive peoples a man acquires in the course of his 
lifetime other and more important names than this one, 
With each significant event of his life, such as the 
ceremonies at puberty, at marriage, at killing his first 
enemy, and at entrance into a secret society, he receives 
a name which is a mysterious symbol of the new “ par- 
ticipation,” of the new and mystical connections which 
have arisen within him. And what happens to real 
names also happens more or less to all words, since in 
these primitive communities the distinction between 
individual and general terms is never so great as it is 
among civilized people. The speaking of words has 
magical effects, and for primitive people words occupy 
positions in the world-pattern quite similar to those of 
other objects and properties °°. 

The naming-age of childhood raises many questions 
for discussion. If everything has a name, how does the 
child acquire all the different words needed? Ap- 
parently the child employs other methods of finding 
names for things, beside that of asking questions. 

1. Some names seem to occur as true inventions, 
about whose origin we know nothing in detail. Mrs 
Moore reports quite a number of such names. One of 
Stumpf’s observations has perhaps a considerable sig- 
nificance in explaining how these names come about. 
His son gave the name marage to a building-stone of a 
peculiar shape, and he was able to remember it when 
he was seventeen years old, and give as the reason for 
his use of the word that “¢he stone looked just the way 
the word sounded, and still does.’ In this instance we 
have a very odd kind of inner connection between the 
object and its name; origins of this sort should furnish 
a very stimulating field of study *71. 

2. Words originally learned for a definite thing gradu- 
ally extend their range of application. A thing whose 
name the child does not yet know may be given a name 


325 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


which is known to belong to some other object. As 
these transferences are of great theoretical interest, we 
shall give a few examples of them. One of “Hilda 
Stern’s earliest words, employed even before the end 
of her first year, was puppe. Although used for the 
first time in connection with a real doll, the word was 
soon applied to her other playthings, like her cloth dog 
and stuffed rabbit ; but for a silver bell, one of her chief 
playthings at this period, the word was never used.” 
At the age of 1°7 this same child called the tips of her 
parents’ shoes zoses. “She then liked to pull our noses, 
and discovered the possibility of pulling likewise the 
tips of our shoes.” Toa certain boy of 2:3, “/a/a first 
meant song or music; later, when he had heard a 
military band, it meant soldier, and finally all kinds 
of noises, including any unmusical sounds like claps 
and thuds”*. Many such transfers have been de- 
scribed. They appear long before speech has arrived 
at the stage of naming indicated in our first example, 
as is shown by Preyer’s observation that his son uttered 
the word a¢¢éa at the end of his eleventh month when- 
ever anything disappeared—either when a person left 
the room or when the light was turned off. These 
transfers, however, maintain themselves during the 
naming-period, which again throws light upon the 
nature of naming itself. It does not appear that every- 
thing must have its own special name; for if this were 
so, these transfers would not take place. It seems to 
be sufficient ifa thing possesses any kind of appropriate 
name. Mrs Moore reports, to be sure, that with the 
impulse to name things, both the number and the ex- 
tent of these transferences decrease; but it seems to me 
that further observations are requisite before we can 
determine what influence the naming-tendency exerts 
upon the number and form of these transferences. 

How can we understand the nature of these trans- 
ferences? Biihler is right in comparing them with the 
transferences of chimpanzees; for instance, when the 


326 





i 
9 


IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


animal employs the rim of a hat as if it were a stick. 
A direction of inquiry is thus indicated from which an 
explanation may be sought. In no case dare we assume 
that the child confuses things for which he employs 
the same name. Mrs Moore makes this point very 
clearly, by showing that behaviour towards different 
things bearing the same name may be quite distinct. 
So, for instance, her child called all little girls, Dorothy, 
but she showed signs of pleasure only in the presence 
of the particular Dorothy whom she knew, and from 
whom the name had been learned *“4. 

When Clara and William Stern write that at this age 
“the child’s apprehension of its impressions is still so 
poor and confused that differentiations are passed over 
which no adult could overlook” **°; this is certainly an 
incomplete statement of the case. When a new thing 
is given an old name, we should interpret that fact by 
saying that the new thing enters into a configuration 
which was acquired with something else. The new 
thing does not need to be identical with this other thing, 
but only to possess certain characteristics which agree 
with the older configuration. What we must try to 
investigate is the configuration of each separate instance 
in which a thing and a name stand together. When 
we previously assumed that the name is added as an 
attribute of the thing, this is to be understood only as 
the general outline of an hypothesis to be filled in by 
further investigation ; for as Wertheimer has indicated, 
the characteristic configuration of a thing may greatly 
vary. “So, for instance, ved in the statement that ‘the 
wall is red’ is quite different from red in the statement 
‘blood is red’” 89°, These are problems for an investiga- 
tion into infantile thought and speech to which, for lack 
of personal experience, I can only refer. 

3. Finally, the child creates new names by combining 
old ones. Biihler recognizes the importance of this 
fact and demands its systematic investigation. Pretty 
examples of this kind of naming are furnished by 


327 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


Stumpf’s son, who until the fourth month of his fourth 
year employed only his own language—a language 
essentially made up of these combinations *”’, as may be 
indicated by the following samples: 


hoto, horse ; apn, to eat ; hoto-papn, milk-wagon ; 

loh, to run ; hoto-loh, mail-wagon ; 

ez, egg ; Aopa, to raise, to take up; ez hopa, tea- or egg-spoon ; 
wausch, flesh ; wausch-hopa, fork ; 

kap, broken in two; wausch-kap, knife. 


We adults would call this procedure something like a 
description, such as we might make use of when we do 
not know how to name a thing or event; but in the 
early stages of development these words have a true 
naming-function, in as much as the name is not yet a 
“mere” name. This primitive naming-function gradu- 
ally undergoes a change, as is indicated when a child 
describes butterflies as “ pansies flying” *; for here we 
seem to be at a much later stage of development where 
description and naming are no longer so much alike as 
they are at the beginning. The procedure, however, 
has not altered. The combinations which the child 
employs are also very instructive in understanding the 
configurations of thing and name. On the one hand 
they indicate that the name does not connect itself with 
the thing in a purely external manner, as the old theory 
of association would have us believe; for in that case 
one could find out the names of things only by ques- 
tioning. Instead, the configuration tells how the thing 
should be called, so that one can see its name in it. 
On the other hand, it is interesting to note how the 
activities and the effects of things are employed in their 
naming. A thing is in no wise isolated from its effects ; 
for its effects belong essentially to its being. A fork, 
for instance, is not a metal object with four tines, but 
“something to eat with.” This conclusion regarding 
the effect of the thing is borne out by the investigations 
which have been made of children’s definitions, The 


328 


IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


extensive observations of Binet upon his two daughters 
(24-34 years, and 44-5 years) are of especial value in 
this connection *°. The younger child, as well as the 
older one, always answered questions of: What is that? 
(for example, a knife, roll, snail-shell, etc.) with a state- 
ment of purpose or action. This is also found to be 
true of children just entering school. To the child, 
therefore, a thing is not a completely isolated fragment, 
since the effective power and purpose of the thing 
adhere to it as a part of its essential nature. 

Thus far we have considered language used during 
this period of greatest speech-development only as a 
process of naming. Our conception of naming must 
thereby be adapted particularly to the facts involved. 
Yet this period of development should not be regarded 
too schematically ; for though naming plays an important 
role at this time, language also serves other purposes, 
Even in addition to the retention of interjectional and 
volitional words, statements are also made by the child 
which transcend the naming of things, and indicate that 
even at this early age language may enter into relations 
with other configurations. The following is an example 
from Taine reported by Compayré*®”. A little girl 
eighteen months old greatly enjoyed the game of “‘ hide- 
and-seek,” in which her mother or nurse would hide 
behind the door and then call cou-cou. The same child 
had been told, ga drié/e when her soup was too hot, when 
she came too near the fire, and when her hat was put 
on in the garden as a protection against the burning 
sun. One evening, on the terrace, when the sun was 
seen disappearing behind a hill, the child said: a dule 
cou-cou. Here a process of uniting two event-configura- 
tions into one is indicated. The transference from a 
one-word to a many-word sentence is carried out; not, 
as Major reports in his observations, by making the 
child repeat two words which are somehow connected, 
but in a manner indicating a new and important 
achievement on the part of the child. At present how- 

329 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


ever, as Buhler remarks 2*!, we are not able to set forth 
the exact psychological significance of such a perform- 
ance. The problem is difficult, but its solution is 
nevertheless worth attempting. 

Finally, Buhler has pointed out the following char- 
acteristic of the early language-period *%. Very soon 
in the development of childish language there occur 
such general words as ¢hzs and ome (in the sense of 
“something”). Bihler observed these words when his 
child was 1°7, and they were not merely used in place 
of a definite name for something, but were correctly 
employed. “ We had always the impression,” he reports, 
“either that the more definite word did not occur to the 
child at the proper time, or that, for unknown reasons, 
he was not concerned to find a more definite name.” 
Biihler’s interpretation seems a reasonable one. Using 
our own terminology it may be stated as follows: To 
the child a thing is something which has a name belong- 
ing to its thing-character. Not only does the name 
dolly belong to the doll, and the name mama to the 
mother, but the naming-configuration is operative even 
before the name is given. The configuration demands 
supplementation, but this demand may be satisfied in 
other ways than by the particular name of the thing, 
so that under certain conditions a general word like one 
is quite sufficient. A word of this kind then becomes 
a sign for the completion of the general configuration 
of thing and name. In the previous case of the child’s 
question: “ What’s that?” (cf. above) the word ¢hat does 
not perform this function, but merely indicates the in- 
completeness of the configuration; hence the ¢hat of 
the question is to be replaced by the name given in 
response. In the present case, however, ¢hzs or ove may 
take the place of a name for something which already 
has a name, and through this process of assigning names 
the thing-category is itself made clearer and more vivid. 

Quite analogous is the usage of the word machen (to 
do) which Biihler frequently observed as early as 1'5 

330 


IDEATIONAL LEARNING 


in all kinds of combinations such as swell machen, kaput 
machen, lala machen (to sing), and quite generally in so 
machen. These are expressions for the relational con- 
figuration of happenings, just as ¢hzs, that, or one are 
expressions for the configuration of a thing including 
its name. 

We have already indicated that causality soon comes 
to play an important réle. Again and again it is 
evident that causal relations not only exist between 
“things frequently experienced in succession,” but also 
that unusual events which stand out from the common- 
place appear distinctly and immediately in a causal. 
order. As an effective means of relationship, causality 
soon penetrates the entire thinking of the child, assum- 
ing, at times, highly amusing forms. I can illustrate 
this fact with a few stories which came to me directly 
from parents. A four-year-old child who had been put to 
bed for the night said to his mother who sat by finishing 
a bit of sewing: “But you can’t see anything; for I 
have my eyes closed.” A little girl, also four years old, 
who was travelling with her father on the railroad cried 
out when the train entered a tunnel and everything 
became dark: “ Father, I have gone away ”—an observa- 
tion which clearly indicates a difference between the 
child’s categories of comprehension and our own. The 
third example, of a little girl of 4:10, shows that caus- 
ality may also affect things by virtue of its own nature, 
thus leading to a definite “ philosophical” consideration. 
One day this little girl asked her mother, from whom 
she had learned that the dear Lord made everything: 
“Then who made the dear Lord?” And when her 
mother answered: “He made Himself,” she objected: 
“He couldn’t do that because He wasn’t there.” 

Further observations are, of course, requisite in 
matters of this kind; but they will not be in vain, for 
in this way we can obtain glimpses into the origins 
of our most important categories, 


331 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


§ 11—Continuation : Number-Configurations 


We shall single out in conclusion one more category, 
in order to demonstrate how azfferent are primitive 
configurations from those employed by adults; and 
how the attributes originally essential to a configura- 
tion may disappear, and be replaced by others entirely 
foreign to the original pattern. We refer here to xum- 
bers—the forms of thought which science has so highly 
developed. In a work of the greatest significance to 
the psychology of categories, Max Wertheimer has 
investigated the kind of ideas employed by men who 
do not possess our developed number-system, in tasks 
where we would use numbers*%, Wertheimer deals 
in the main with primitive peoples, but he gives some 
examples from infantile development, and he has also 
been able to demonstrate that even our “common- 
sense” numbers often differ in radical ways from the 
numbers of mathematics. 

It is characteristic of our thinking that we are able 
to carry out thought-processes abstractly, with any 
sort of material, quite independent of the natural 
relations of things. This is not so in earlier stages of 
development where the things themselves determine 
what kind of thought-processes shall be carried on 
with them. Here is an interesting example: “If one 
asks for the class-concept of two terms in this way: 
‘What are both x and y?’—it often happens that 
among a number of ‘right’ reactions, a break suddenly 
occurs, and instead of classifying dog and cat as 
domestic animals, they are called enxemzes***” In a 
large measure this dependence upon the things them- 
selves is also found in operations and constructions 
which are used in place of our numbers, and which we 
may call “ pre-numerical constructs.” While our count- 
ing is transferred to whatever objects we may choose, 
and yet always remain the same; order, natural modes 
of grouping, natural relationships of members and 


332 


Fe ae” hoe 


NUMBER-CONFIGURATIONS 


materials, remain more or less relevant to the pre- 
numerical constructs. Such a construct is the pair: 
as a pair of eyes; but a dish and a table are not a 
pair, neither are a stalk and a blossom. A pair is 
comprehended as being made up, not of “equal things, 
but of things that belong together”; thus, for example, 
man and wife are a pair, called a married couple. The 
same holds true for a group of three members: two 
adjacent trees and a third one farther off are not 
necessarily a natural group of three. Biihler cites a 
pretty example from the investigations of Decroly and 
Degand,* where a child of 4°9, who had learned to 
comprehend a group of four members, was asked how 
many cherries there were when a pair was hung over 
each ear. The child always replied: “Here’s a pair 
and there’s a pair.” The Sterns ** also cite the case 
of two children of the ages 2°7 and 2°10, investigated 
by Major and Lindner, who were able to understand 
and make use of “two apples,” but not of two eyes, two 
ears,etc. This observation may appear singular, because 
paired members form so natural a group to us adults ; 
and Decroly and Degand found that their child knew 
and understood the twoness of eyes, legs, stockings, and 
gloves at the age of 22. The paradox is explained, 
however, when we consider that pre-numerical con- 
structs do not have the same characteristics that our 
numbers have. With numbers, two is always the 
same, but with “two eyes, two boards, and. . . two 
fighters, each pair gives rise to a different configuration 
of two.” *7 Consequently, when the child has learned 
the twoness of apples it does not follow that he is now 
able to transfer this configuration to pairs of quite a 
different constitution. In this connection Wertheimer 
observed that for children three single nuts have the 
designations of one, two, three; while three objects 
which lie in a certain order have another designation ; 
namely, that of the form in which they are arranged. 
Thus, children are often greatly astonished to find that 
O33 


THE PROBLEM OF MEMORY 


the five-spot domino corresponds to the quantity five, 
and we ourselves reckon apples by the bushel and 
years by the score. 

To how slight an extent numerical constructs are 
transferable is shown by the following observation of 
Friedrich, reported by the Sterns. A child 4°34 was 
asked by his grandfather: “How many fingers have 
I?” to which the child replied: “I don’t know, I can 
only count my own fingers.” This is not an instance 
of mere mental incapacity, but is largely a result of 
natural factors which oppose the transfer of an opera- 
tion from one material to another. When a pot is 
broken in two, it is unnatural to say that two things 
have been made out of one; the natural thing is to say 
that the pot is in shards or fragments. 

Long before the first number - words are properly 
employed, pre-numerical constructs play a part. The 
following experiments can be made in the first months 
of the second year: when a child plays with two or 
three identical objects, such as beans or coins, no dis- 
tinction is made between them; but if one of them is 
taken away, while the child’s attention is diverted, its 
absence will be noticed immediately, even when the 
order of those remaining is also changed. On the 
other hand the removal of one from a large number of 
objects will not be noticed. As Wertheimer maintains, 
the formation of natural groups and conglomerate con- 
structs is genetically prior to counting. 

Counting is a supplemental process, occurring first 
as a serial arrangement about the beginning of the 
second year. Apples, blocks, fingers—always things 
of the same class—are arranged in series and the child 
says one, another one, still another one, etc., or button, 
another button, still another button, but never simply 
apple, apple, apple*”*. When we recall what was said 
about the first use of the word ome, it will be clear that 
serial words, such as’ “another one,” etc., stand for 
things seen and employed as members of a series 


334 


Se ae eg ee ee 


i 
tae ee ae 


NUMBER-CONFIGURATIONS 


already present or in course of construction. This 
implies a step in the direction of counting and the 
conception of numbers. But serial construction and 
group-construction remain different processes, even 
after the child has learned to count properly. The 
Sterns give the following example of their daughter, 
Hilda, aged 3°7. When five fingers were held out 
before her, and the question asked how many fingers 
there were, she would count them correctly. “If, 
however, the question was asked over again; ‘How 
many fingers are there?’ she would begin to recount 
them each time the question was asked. The last 
finger was indeed the fifth, but the total number of 
fingers did not yet mean to her the sum of five”, 
Thus, as Wertheimer has pointed out, many peoples 
use other number-words in counting than the ones they 
use in naming sums. 

The pre-numerical constructs of children are, of 
course, constantly influenced by association with adults ; 
and hence they do not become stable enough to show 
their capacity in performance as they do with primitive 
people. Wertheimer says of the constructs employed 
by primitive people, that they are both less and more 
effective than our logical constructs. “Less, in that 
certain operations of thought commonly employed by 
us are altogether excluded from consideration; more, 
in that the thinking itself isin principle more intimately 
concerned with real things.” The release from reality, 
which is both possible and easy to our mode of think- 
ing, is a specific product of our civilization. The child 
must go a tremendously long way in a short time in 
order to learn to think as adults do, in a manner which 
is not at all natural to him. To lead him along this 
way, so that his advancement may be vital to him, this 
is the difficult though grateful task of the teacher. 


335 


CHAPTER VI 
THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


IN this brief concluding chapter I shall try to indicate 
some of the important features of the child’s world, as 
contrasted with the world familiar to us adults. The 
child’s sphere of interest has been called a world of\ , 
play, a world of irresponsibility, in which unreality 
reigns supreme. These characterizations merit a closer 
scrutiny. 

The problem is not identical with that of under- 
standing children’s play; for real play, in its very 
beginnings at least, occurs so early in life that we can 
not yet speak of a conception of the world, even in the 
simplest literal sense of the word. On the other hand, 
there appears in later types of play only one aspect of ih 
what we really have in mind; for the distinction we 
adults draw between play one serious endeavour is 
certainly quite a different matter to the child. Even 
if the child does not really play all the time, as 
adults do occasionally, still his world has some of 
the characteristics of play. In other words, certain 
peculiarities which belong to the play of children, and 
likewise in some degree to the play of adults, may be 
found in the internal and external behaviour of children, Y 
even when they are not playing. We must not forget 
that the child grows up in a world controlled by adults, 
in consequence of which he is constantly being sub- 
jected to their influence. We have to deal, therefore, 
not with a set of conditions which remain unaltered for 
a long period of time, but rather with a view of the 


336 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


world which is constantly undergoing a process of 
transformation; sometimes more rapidly, and at other 
times more slowly. This fact must be borne in mind 
when we try to set forth the characteristics of the 
child’s world. 

I choose the following example as a starting-point for 
our considerations. A child may play with a stick of Vv 
wood and treat it like his “dear baby.” Yet ashort time 
later, after being diverted from his play, he will break 
the same stick of wood, or throw it into the fire, without 
any compunction at all*°. How can these two different 
types of behaviour toward one and the same object be 
reconciled? Superficially considered they seem to be 
altogether incompatible ; for the first action is carried 
on no less seriously or intently than the second, which 
makes it impossible to suppose that when acting as 
though the stick of wood were a living being, the child 
is only playing, whereas in destroying the stick he has 
taken into consideration the real character of his play- 
thing. In many ways it is apparent that the matter 
can not be so simple as this. One can see that a child 
manifests a deep and genuine feeling for his playthings ; 
for intense emotions can be provoked by interrupting 
the play-situation. Sully has given numerous examples 
of this fact. “One little boy of three and a half years 
who was fond of playing at the useful business of coal- 
heaving would carry his coal-heaver’s dream through 
the whole day, and on the particular day devoted to 
this calling would not only refuse to be addressed by 
any less worthy name, but ask in his prayer to be 
made a good coal-heaver (instead of the usual ‘good 
boy’). On other days this child lived the life of a 
robin redbreast, a soldier, and so forth, and bitterly 
resented his mother’s occasional confusion of his per- 
sonalities.” 

We must conclude from this statement that the child 
takes his play very earnestly. And it is apparent that Vv 
we can not merely set off play from its usual anti- 


mia ¥ 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


thesis of earnestness and work; but must try to find 
some other distinction. 
It is characteristic of much of the play of children 


(most typically in their play with dolls) that inanimate © 


objects are treated like living human beings. This 
observation is generally confirmed and applies to 
behaviour in a much wider sense than we have attri- 
buted to play. “That is to say, the child sees what we 
regard as lifeless and soulless as alive and conscious”, 
Sully gives some pretty examples: The little boy 
twenty months old who had a special preference for the 
letter W and always used to speak of it as “dear old 


boy W”; and the youngster of four who drew an F by | 


mirror-writing and then putting the correct letter to the 
left of it, F 4, cried out: “They’re talking together.” 
Miss Ingelow remembered that when she was two or 
three years old she “used to feel how dull it must be 
for the pebbles in the causeway to be obliged to lie stil] 
and only see what was round about. When I walked 
out with a little basket for putting flowers in I used 
sometimes to pick up a pebble or two and carry them 
on to have a change: then at the farthest point of the 
walk turn them out, not doubting that they must be 


pleased to have a new view.” It seems to me quite ; 
\ vi 


incorrect to speak of a propensity for personification in 
this case, meaning that children first have perceptions 
like our own, and afterwards endow them with life by 
inference from the analogy of their own experience. 
Such a view, however, has long been held in folk- 
psychology; and the theory of animism advanced by 
English investigators, and confirmed by an immense 
amount of material, rests upon this basis. The universal 
animation which primitive peoples find in nature has 
thus been taken to be an explanation of facts based 
upon rational inferences from human behaviour to the 
behaviour of things. To-day this theory is assailed on 
many sides, and in what follows I shall cite some of the 
chief objections which Lévy-Bruhl advances in his 


338 


/ 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


important work on the subject. I may refer the reader, 
also, to the excellent and easily accessible little book 
by K. Th. Preuss #4, 

Animism can not be conceived as an “explanation” 
of the world, for in the first place the life of primitive 
man is such that he could not take any interest in 
theoretical explanations. In the second place, primitive 
man needs no explanation; because the disconnected 
things which the philosophy of man has slowly exposed 
to view, do not exist for him at all. The theoretical 
exponent of animism seeks to give a plausible explana-\, 
tion of the facts of folk-psychology by imagining how 
he would himself come upon such ideas if he were at 
the same level of civilization, and placed in the same 
surroundings, as primitive man. But in so doing the 
theorist makes the mistake of identifying primitive man\ 
with himself; an error which is like that committed by 
a well-known biologist who, having succeeded with the 
aid of a microscope in perceiving a retinal image in an 
insect’s eye, concluded that what he saw was what the 
insect must have been able to see*“*. The error here 
made is as clear as day to a psychologist. What one 
sees through the microscope are only the objective factors 
which may be effective in the insect’s vision; but what 
the insect actually sees when it has this definite retinal” 
image, it is quite impossible to observe. The same is 
true regarding the theory of animism. The environment 
of primitive people and their peripheral sense-organs 
are approximately known to us, but we can no more 
draw conclusions from this knowledge than we can in 
the case of the insect ; because our perception is a pro- 
duct of development and, as we have seen, the child 
perceives things differently than we do. The develop- 
ment of perception depends upon the total environment, 
the milieu, and above all, upon the sociological conditions 
of this milieu. Lévy-Bruhl attaches a special import 
ance to the last point, and for this reason: Man grows 
up as a member of society—and with primitive people 


339 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


internal social connections are much stronger than with 
us—so that man’s entire development, including, of 
course, his perceptions, is dependent upon society. To 
give a rather weak analogy, we have found that language 
—which is a collective factor—plays a very important 
role in the first development of perception. 

There is really nothing to explain; for “primitive 
people do not perceive as we do.” Our “natural things” 
do not enter into their perception at all. Before the 
characteristics can arise which are all-important to us, 
the primitive mind finds other and mystical character- 
istics in things, by means of which they are perceptually 


connected. The connection itself is, therefore, not a © 


problem, but something given; and the question which 
arises is how development has been carried on so as to 
loosen these originally fixed connections. 

Since everything that exists for a people at this 
stage of civilization possesses mystical qualities which 
are much more important to them than “natural” 
characteristics, our distinction between the living and 
the dead, the animate and the inanimate, can have no 
meaning to them. Rivers, clouds, winds, even the main 
directions of space, to mention but a few examples, all 
have their mystical powers. The distinction, therefore, 
between animate and inanimate, is a product of develop- 
ment; at the beginning no such question could possibly 
arise, since every thing, even including directions, names, 
and words in general, possesses its active principle as 
an immanent attribute. 

When we return now to consider the child, it is evident 
that this view can be carried over directly to him. We 


should not suppose it “natural” that a child would first/ 


be able to see dead things which he later endows with 
life; for the original situation is, rather, one in which 
the characteristic of effective activity belongs to every- 
thing alike. The discussion of the thing-category in 
the preceding chapter has already led us to this con- 
clusion, and Bihler also comes to it when he says: “The 


340 


<— ia ns 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


child knows absolutely nothing of life and mind, but is 
acquainted only with purposive events.” Unlike the 
poet, a child is unable to breathe life into a dead thing *”*. 
He must gradually learn to make the distinctions we 
make, and these become an acquisition to his perceptual 
categories. 

If we ask what are the criteria employed in deciding 
whether a thing has life or not, we can answer only by 
investigating the behaviour involved; for the answer 
depends upon the kind of place a thing occupies ina 
larger course of events, or in a more comprehensive 
dynamic structure. Consequently, when the child learns 
the distinction between the animate and the inanimate, 
this more extensive structure must still be involved. 

There is a similar process in the development of such 
categories as “mere appearance,” which we can already 
trace to some extent in certain cases of children’s 
activities. As pointed out in an earlier connection, 
after the child has learned to reach for an object seen, 


this object possesses certain visual and tactual charac-~ 


teristics belonging to its configuration as a thing. The 
child is, therefore, constantly grasping at spots of light, 
shadows, and the like, and must gradually learn that 
there are things which may be seen, but which can not 
be grasped or touched. The behaviour of children in 
response to reflections in a mirror is of especial interest. 
Preyer describes his son’s development in this respect 
very thoroughly. At first the image was not seen at 
all, later it was smiled at and grasped at, then it was 
apprehended as if it lay dehznd the mirror, and finally 
movements of avoidance were observed; for the child 
looked away when the mirror was held up before him. 
At this stage of development the reflection apparently 
frightened him, as something which did not fit into 
any of his patterns. Dogs probably never get beyond 
this stage. I have observed this behaviour in my own 
dog, and up to this point it coincided perfectly with 
Preyer’s observations. The first time the dog came 
341 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


before a large mirror standing on the ground he ran up 
to his image barking loudly, and with a great show of 
excitement. Later he ran to one side of the mirror 
and stuck his head between the mirror and the wall. 
Since that time he has taken no notice of reflections in 
the mirror, and, like Preyer’s son, he turns away his 
head whenever I hold him in front of a mirror. But 
development proceeds rapidly with a child. In two 
weeks’ time after the sixtieth week of life all shyness 
before the mirror had been overcome by Preyer’s son, 
and some preparation, at least, had been made for 
a correct understanding. Yet the child still grasped 
for and, indeed, struck at, his image. But soon this 
behaviour also ceased and the child employed the mirror 
thereafter just as we do *“, Cases of an opposite sort 
have also been observed, in which a child demands to 
see something invisible that has been felt; as, for 
instance, in the case reported by Sully of a little giri 
not yet two years old who wanted to see the wind. 

The original thing-phenomenon in which the visual 
and tactual are closely related, must therefore be broken 
up in certain instances and new patterns formed in 
which there may be only visual, or only tactual, con- 
stituents. Something similar must take place in draw- 
ing the distinction between animate and inanimate; 
except that this process is much more complicated and 
difficult, since the configurations involved are themselves 
much more extensive. It is not to be wondered at that 
this process goes on for a long time before it is complete 
enough to afford a clear-cut differentiation. And, even 
after the basis for this distinction has been crudely laid, 
this will not prevent the old undifferentiated pattern 
from re-appearing again and again. I would even go 
so far as to say that vestiges of these old patterns are 
still frequent occurrences in the everyday life of adults ; 
and not merely in the form of superstitions, either. 

If it be asked what kind of a pattern this is which 
gradually enables us to distinguish the dead from 

342 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


the living, one might frame an answer in terms of 
the original “expression” of perceptual phenomena. 
Although, at start, all phenomena are expressive, they 
are not all expressive in the same degree—a fact which 
we have found to be influential in the development of 
perception (cf. p. 291 f.). It is possible that the distinc- 
tion between the living and the dead arises from this 
difference in degree of expressiveness ; for certainly a 
pencil has very little of this quality, whereas a snake, 
even though stuffed, has very much of it. In other 
words, along with the progressive evolution of perceptual 
configurations goes the differentiation of their expres- 
sive qualities, so that the distinction of the living from 
the dead would proceed directly from the development 
of single percepts. 

In addition, I might venture to assume that this 
distinction is also gradually drawn from the conse- 
quences of the child’s behaviour with the things in 
question; for gradually, though very gradually, of 
course, the child will notice that things react in very 
different ways. On the one hand, he will experience 
contradictions in “living” things; he must approach 
them and shape his reactions to them quite differently 
than with inert things. On the other hand, the learn- 
ing of this distinction may be made more difficult 
by the fact that “living” things conform more than 
inert things to the wishes of the child ; thus displaying, 
in a certain sense, an opposing behaviour. Two ex- 
amples from Sully illustrates this point: A little girl of 
five one day stopped her rolling hoop and exclaimed: 
“ Ma, I do think this hoop must be alive, it is so sensible: 
it goes where I want it to.” In another example this 
pattern of connection was “falsely” employed; or, as 
we should say, cause and effect were interchanged. A 
little girl scarcely two years old said to her mother 
during a rainstorm: ‘‘ Mamma, dy (dry) Babba’s hands, 
so not rain any more” *’, The distinction may also 
involve emotions, since one can bring pain to the 


343 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


animate, but not to the inanimate. Thus the child 
notices that his little brothers and sisters react to ill- 
treatment quite differently than does his doll. All the 
same, it seems to me a tenable hypothesis that this dis- 
tinction is facilitated by these consequences; and that 
the child must learn to consider his behaviour with 
respect to its consequences, and in this way come to 
look upon his conduct as the degznning of a series of © 
interrelated events. 

We see now why development must proceed so 
slowly. A child’s ability to bring the present into 
relation with the past and the future is quite inade- 
quate, as Stern has pointed out®**. Even after a 
beginning has been made, the total connections of the 
world and of life are by no means grasped at once; for 
smaller and more limited relationships must first be 
built up which, as we shall soon see, can exist in 
relative independence of one another. 

Returning again to the problem from which we 
started out—namely, the question as to the nature of 
childish play—it seems to me that we can best under- 
stand play, psychologically, by considering the activities 
of the child from the point of view of the larger con- 
figuration of events in which play occurs. We have, 
at the beginning, a situation in which the child can 
form no temporal patterns at all which go beyond 
the activities just performed. Here all separate act- 
complexes must be independent of one another, every 
one being of the same sort and of the same worth. 
From the child’s point of view, there is not as yet 
anything at this stage that can be called play or not- 
play. From an adult’s point of view, however, childish 
behaviour at this stage can be characterized as playful, 
provided one accepts Groos’s definition of play as an 
activity which is enjoyed purely for its own sake. 

But gradually the child perfects his temporal 
patterns, and it becomes a characteristic of these that , 
many of them can exist side by side without influencing 


344 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


each other very strongly. I believe that the two systems 
first to arise have to do, one with undertakings, processes, 
and things which relate somehow to adults ; while along- 
side of these a second system is developed which is 
independent of adults. Thus to a child the world of 
adults separates itself slowly, and at first indistinctly 
and obscurely, from his own child-world. The world of 
the adult makes itself gradually felt through the un- , 
pleasant consequences of certain acts of behaviour. In 
the adult’s world the child is not free, but instead meets 
with compulsion and opposition which are lacking in 
his own world. So long as the connection between the 
child’s world and the adult’s world is still a loose one, 
motives for drawing new distinctions, such as that 
between the quick and the dead, are doubtless found 
to be stronger in the adult’s world than they are in the 
child’s world where no such requirement is made. If 
a child finds himself in his own world, these categorical 
analyses are largely lacking from both his external and 
internal behaviour; therefore he acts the same towards 
both animate and inanimate things. 

But we must proceed still further. The relative 
independence of different patterns from one another 
refers not only to the two great groups constituting the 
child’s world and the adult’s world, but is likewise valid 
in the individual connections within each of these worlds. 
But while the adult’s world, by virtue of the same principle 
which distinguishes it from the child’s world, soon forces 
itself to be comprehended as a ¢ofality, so that the 
independence of individual actions, one from another, 
sradually disappears; it is quite different in the other 
world where, to-day, the child may be a coal-heaver 
and to-morrow a soldier; and where a stick of wood 
that has just been cuddled may the next minute be 
thrown into the fire. Yet these different actions do not 
interfere with one another, because they have no more 
connection with one another than they have for us 
when we are at play. The jack of diamonds may be 


345 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


a tremendously important card—‘“the right bower”— 
when I am playing euchre, but it is only a relatively 
unimportant card when I am playing bridge. With us 
adults, of course, there is always a conformity to the 
“rules of the game,” which are fixed and valid in each 
kind of game; whereas a child’s play is not bound by 
any such extraneously determined rules. Yet the lack 
of connection between plays is the same in both cases. 
The fixed and rigid connections that pervade our world 
are but a result of the domination of our non-play life; 
whereas to a child this domination is not originally 
present, and only gradually introduces itself. 

Finally, the illusion indicated by the child who plays 
with a mere stick of wood as though it were a doll, can 
also be explained in terms of our principle. As a 


general rule the “illusion” will be no greater when , 


a 
Wa 


the plaything is more nearly true to nature. Favourite ~ 


dolls are not necessarily the costliest products of the 
toy-shop, but may be the simplest, rudest, and often 
more or less damaged specimens. This would seem 
very remarkable if one were to identify the child’s 
world with that of the adult; seeing each separate 
thing in the position which it occupies in the general 
and all-inclusive relationships of life. Yet adults have 
reasoned in this way; that because a doll is so very 
different from a living child one must therefore make 
it just as like a child as possible. Accordingly, we 


have dolls fitted out with mechanisms which close the “ 


eyes when they are laid down, and which produce vocal 
sounds when they are squeezed. We have dolls which 
are beautiful, with hair genuine or deceptively similar, 
and with clothes correct in every detail. To a child, 
however, a doll is never a part of the adult-world, or, 
at any rate, it becomes so only after it has been taken 
away from the child for protection or as a punishment ; 
and since the doll does not occupy any such fixed 
position among definitely regulated things, the entire 
assumption upon which dolls are usually made is a 


346 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


false one. To the child it is sufficient if something is 
there to satisfy a present want; and the thing, whatever 
it be, will then have all the characteristics necessary for 
this purpose. Since a stick of wood can be caressed, 
it becomes at once a baby to be loved and cuddled. 
The fact that it does not have certain other character- 
istics belonging to a real baby, does not come into 
consideration at all; because the need of harmony with 
the rest of experience is simply not felt. To a child 
there is as yet no szmgle world-all in which particular, 
objects have each a manifold of relations. 

Ethnological analogies to this interpretation are also 
available. For example, primitive peoples do not know | 
anything about a single world-all which binds everything 
together. What is right for the white man may be 
altogether wrong for them. Ifa white man shoots an 
invulnerable fetish-bird, this does not destroy the bird’s 
invulnerability in their eyes, but only shows that 
different charms work for the white man. This primi- 
tive view of the world not only lacks the criterion by 
which we endow with reality only such things and 
processes as are perceptible to everyone; but, in 
addition, those things which are visible only to the 
chosen few—the medicine -men—are considered to 
possess a peculiarly magnified and important reality. 

Finally, as we have already pointed out and can 
now confirm by examples, the characteristics which are 
important in the world of primitive peoples are entirely 
different from those that are important in our own 
world. This is apparent in primitive drawings and 
their relation to reality. Here we enter a sphere which, 
externally at least, is very similar to the peculiar nature 
of the child’s world which we have described. Spencer 
and Gillen made the following observation in Central 
Australia, where the natives maintain that certain 
drawings are made only in play and have absolutely 
no meaning ; yet precisely the same sketches have a very 
definite significance when they are attached to objects 


347 


THE WORLD-OF A CHILD 


found on consecrated ground. The explanation of this 
phenomenon, and of the wonder and mystery which it 
has for us, lies in the fact that while our standard of 
judging the relationship between image and reality is 
their likeness, to primitive people it is their common 
participation in the same mystical power. For this 
reason it is quite impossible for us to interpret these 
drawings. Parkinson reports from the South Sea 
Islands that a drawing which had been taken for snakes 
really represented a pig; and that another figure, which 
might perhaps have passed for a face, was really a club. 
The natives were greatly astonished that one-should 
ask them about the meaning of these drawings; for 
they could not imagine how anyone could fail to under- 
stand the drawings at once *”. 

It is, therefore, not unheard of that a thing should 
first derive its being and its significance from the 
relationship in which it exists. So long as no larger 
connection binds everything together, a stick of wood 
may very well be a trifling thing at one moment, and 
a dear dolly the next. 

To say, then, that the child experiences no genuine 
illusion in his play means, according to our view, that 
the object under consideration is perceived in an illusory 
manner only so long as the child is in his own world. 
But he may slip over from this world into the world of 
the adult, and then the object will be treated differently. 
But it cannot be said when the child is absorbed in his 
play that any part of this other pattern of the adult- 
world must also be present to him. Groos emphasizes ~ 
this distinction by remarking that “if we may not 
assume consciousness of the illusion in complete ab- 
sorption, nor yet any true alternative with reality, we 
are forced to the conclusion that the appearance pro- 
duced by play differs essentially from the reality which 
it represents, and is incapable of producing genuine 
deception ” **. 

What is most characteristic of the child is his own 


348 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


child-world, which to him is more important and more 
dear than the world in which the adult dwells. For a 
long period of time the child makes no less progress in 
his own world than he does when he comes under the 
influence of the adult-world. Furthermore, when the 
distinction between these different worlds begins to be 
known, when the child himself begins to speak of 
playing, this play-world becomes all the more vivid 
to him. A stimulating anecdote reported by Sully 
illustrates this fact. “One day two sisters said to one 
another: ‘Let us play being sisters’”**. Since the 
sister-configuration comes from the adult-world, or at 
least belongs to that stage of development, what was 
here proposed was to take this pattern over into the 
child-world in order to give it a quickening reality. 

The instance of Stumpfs son, who spoke his own 
language for a whole year, and could not be broken of the 
habit by any admonition, is a good example of the fact 
that occasionally even performances which bring the child 
into relation with adults, and which are of special import- 
ance in the construction of the adult’s world, may origin- 
ally be carried over entirely into the sphere of the 
child’s world. Stumpf writes of his son: “When we 
corrected him and said: ‘This is called snow,’ or 
‘this is called milk,’ he would still answer: ‘Ich 
kjob,’ ‘ich prullich’” (these being his expressions for 
the same things). ~ 

We have already mentioned the sudden transition to 
normal speech, which Stumpf explains in the following 
way: “The psychological motive was very simple; the 
child had grown tired of the game. He may also have 
felt, finally, that the deviation of his language from the 
vernacular, and its incompleteness, were both disturb- 
ing and humiliating”; which was no doubt true. The 
adult’s world had become so powerful that it was now 
the child’s ambition to attain it, rather than make use 
any longer of the possibility of remaining in his own 
world, which had now assumed a somewhat contemptible 


349 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


character. Thus, after a time, the child became ashamed 
of his own language. 

Another modification in the boy’s speech appears to 
me to have been a harbinger of this transformation. 
For a long time the boy called his brother Rudi, oJo/, 
and himself 70d. But there came a time, even while he 
yet spoke his own language with reference to every- 
thing else, when he avoided these names and would 
only say, and give heed to the names used by adults. 
“Job weg, likt da” (Liki being the name which adults 
called him—an abbreviation of Felix); “olol 706 a— 
vudt likt haja,’ meaning that Olol and Job are bad 
names, while Rudi and Liki are nice**. An encroach- 
ment upon the child’s world by the world of the adult is 
manifest in this instance; which Stumpf describes very 
pertinently by saying that the old name 70d no longer 
seemed worthy to the child. Slowly the child-world 
must give way to the world of the adult, and the case of 
Stumpf’s son gives us a good insight into this process. 

There is, however, one sphere of interest which 


children learn from adults that has a very close and ~ 


intimate relation with the child’s world ; and that is the 
sphere of religion. To a child, religion is something 


tremendously serious ; perhaps, indeed, truly “holy”; 


and yet despite, or better still, because of, this, it is 
completely incorporated into the child-world. As the 
adult sees it, the child A/ays with religious things. The 
Christchild; the Christmas-eve manger with its figures 
of men, angels, and beasts—these are realities corre- 
sponding to the child’s world; for they are things to 
which the customary laws of the adult-world apply no 
more than they do to any other playthings. 

Mrs Else Roloff has carefully observed and reported 
upon the religious play of her two little girls**. The 
plays, which centred about the Christmas festival, were 
of outstanding significance. “ Before the festival, Eva 
was ‘the Christchild.” She flew through the room with 
outstretched arms bringing gifts to all the children... . 

350 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


The little one also claimed an office, and was promoted 
to the position of the ‘angel choir,’ to sing and mingle 
with them. After Christmas eve the holy persons were 
represented by building blocks.... In Heaven—a 
stage-like structure with stairs leading up to it—stood 
the Saviour, the Lord Jesus, the ‘Guest, and the 
Christchild. The relation between the Christchild, the 
Saviour, Jesus, and the Guest, was remarkable. The 
children knew very well that the Christchild was called 
Jesus and that He grew up to be the Saviour, yet they 
maintained that ‘thezy Christchild was always small. 
They knew, too, that at our meals we ‘pray that Jesus 
may be our Gwest’; but this did not hinder them at all 
from attributing separate personalities in their play to 
all these names.” 

This last observation is of especial interest; for it 
illustrates a peculiarity of childish thinking that may 
extend far beyond the province of religion ; a peculiarity 
which is brought out so clearly in this instance, only 
because the material was especially well adapted for it. 
This peculiarity is related to a characteristic which has 
already provided us with a key to so many features of 
the child’s behaviour: namely, the relative independence 
of different configurations. Jesus, the Saviour, the 
Christchild, and the Guest can be united in the struc- 
ture of a single personality, although it is doubtful 
whether a configuration possessing all these separate 
properties (for the names are properties) could be ex- 
perienced simultaneously by a child. Nevertheless, 
the smaller constellations of the main configuration may 
be entirely self-sufficient, and exist side by side without 
disturbing one another; indeed, they may exist in the 
same form in which the total configuration exists. To 
us, such a procedure would mean a logical contradic- 
tion, but, as Mrs Roloff has shown, there is no such 
contradiction in the child’s mind. Here the author 
refers quite properly to analogies from folk-psychology ; 
for neither does this contradiction of thought exist at 


351 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


primitive levels of civilization. A thing can have two 
forms at the same time and can also occupy different 
places. That it is the same thing despite these, to us, 
incompatible circumstances, derives from the fact that 


the total configuration in which the identity is contained ~ 


is quite different from the one we know. The develop- 
ment of our whole- and part-configuration is based upon 
the principle of non-contradiction ; but in the case of 
other civilizations and, as we now see, in the case of 
our own children as well, the process is different. For 
the principle of contradiction is irrelevant; such things 
as liveliness, active power, and mystical characteristics 
being of much greater importance. Thus the fact that 
three objects, which were once but the names and attri- 
butes of a single personality, should nevertheless become 
three different and independent beings is in no wise 
disturbing to the primitive mind. 

In tracing this development still further, it appears 
that the configuration of the adult-world constantly 
assumes a greater extension, so that the complete in- 
dependence of different worlds is no longer possible. 
The school acts as a very important agent in this 
process; for in school there is both work and play. 
What was once a world of equal rank with the adult’s 
world, gradually becomes a mere matter of play. 
Before this takes place, the real world occasionally 
forces itself into the child-world, so that even in his 
play the child is now and then conscious of the fact 
that there is another world beside his play-world; one 
in which his play is not to be taken seriously. At this 
period the stimulus to play may even be heightened by 
the fact that the play-world is devoid of all responsi- 
bilities. _Groos describes this behaviour as follows: 
“Think, for instance, of the laughter of romping boys 
which serves to reassure the combatants by its im- 
plication that, in spite of appearances to the contrary, 
the fight is only playful ” *4, 

Yet play always remains a sphere relatively shut off 


352 


oo 


ge gS ee OS 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


from the rest of the world, and for a long time illusion 
—as we have employed this term—retains its power. 
What the child will do only with the greatest reluctance 
when he thinks he is working, he will do with burning 
zeal in play. 

But the opposite may also occur; for play itself can 
be so directed that it becomes closely related to the 
rest of life. The play-character then disappears almost 
entirely. One may take part in a game of chance . 
simply because one is in a mood to play, and then 
suddenly notice that in the course of the play one has 
become so deeply involved that to lose the game would 
be a very disagreeable experience. Thenceforth the 
play-mood is all gone, and the progress of the game 
becomes a serious decision of fate. 

This example has been chosen, not from the life of 
a child but from the experience of an ‘adult; yet I 
believe that the chief feature of an adult’s play is that 
it still belongs to a “world-apart,” and that whenever 
we play we step out of the usual relationships of life. 
(Thus professional gamesters can not be said to “play.”) 

This development, as we have here sketched it, is-> 
characteristic of our children; but play is to be found 
in every other type of civilization, and likewise among 
animals. Our theory, however, can not at once be 
carried over to these other manifestations of play, 
because the distinction of the two worlds, which to us 
is so marked, either does not exist at all, or is quite a 
different affair in the lives of animals and primitive 
men. An investigation into the psychology of these 
other kinds of play is not a part of our task. Never- 
theless, we shall complete our sketch with a few words 
upon the biological significance of play in order to 
bring it more closely into connection with certain 
things that have previously been discussed. 

We have noticed that the child acquires many, and 
not the least significant, of his accomplishments from 
his child-world. When he lives in this world he does 

353 Zz 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


what we objectively designate as play, in accordance 
with the definition already given (cf. p. 344). Now 


Groos has advanced the opinion that the play of _— 


children is of tremendous biological value in preparing 
the child for serious endeavour. “I find this value,” 
he says, “in the zzdzrect benefit, both physical and 
mental, which must be ascribed to play by way of 
practice and preparation” **. In the second chapter 
(page 40) it was stated that childhood is the time for 
learning; and that the longer the period of infancy, 
the more the individual has to learn. Groos’s theory is 
in perfect harmony with this idea. If play is of service 
to living, then, according to Groos, one should not say 
that animals play because they are young and joyous; 
but rather that animals enjoy a period of youth in 
order that they may play. In both of his excellent 
books on play Groos has supported his views with a 
great mass of material, so that the theory has now 
become universally acknowledged. 

Yet I must warn the reader against an over-estima- 
tion of this theory. Not only must one guard against 
a false pedagogical application of play by smuggling 
artificial and foreign aims of instruction into the child’s 
world (to this Biihler has already referred in the con- 
clusion of his larger work), but one must also remain 
unprejudiced by theories of play, both as applied to 
children and to animals. Instead, these intensive 
expressions of vitality should be taken into account 
as they are, without considering any aim whatsoever, 
Play is but one type of behaviour among others. While 
a relationship of course exists between all kinds of 
behaviour, a procedure which brings all behaviour 
under the single head of practical utility is distinctly 
one-sided, and has led to many errors which have 
been sponsored by the rationalistic utilitarianism of 
the last fifty years. 

The question has also been asked what are the 
effective causes which, in any particular instance, lead 


354 


oe 


"(CAE eee elie! aera agit g: 


ep 


THE WORLD OF A CHILD 


an individual to play. No explanation based on tele- 
ology is a real explanation, but at best an indication of 
the direction in which an explanation may be sought. 
The child knows nothing of the end which is being 
fulfilled by his play. Many theories of the reason for 
play have been constructed, of which the most famous 
is the Schiller-Spencer “surplus-energy” theory. In 
addition to this, the “recreation” theory of Lazarus 
has played its part. The main points of these theories 
can easily be gathered from the names that have been 
attached to them, and an exhaustive discussion of the 
subject will be found in the works of Groos*”. 

Biihler contributes a new suggestion by pointing to 
the fact that, aside from any consequences whatsoever, 
all activity brings pleasure. I would modify this state- 
ment by adding that a successful activity—that is, an 
activity which brings something I desire, or one that 
achieves what it should—brings me pleasure, whether 
the end attained be itself pleasurable or not. We have 
already met with examples of this fact; I may recall, 
for instance, Kohler’s experiment with the double-stick 
which Sultan fitted together, and continued to employ 
even after he had brought all the fruit within reach. 
Biihler regards this “ functional-pleasure” as the motor 
which drives a disinterested activity of play*°’. 1 find 
here a very suggestive idea, but one which has yet to 
be developed into a theory; for it is certainly no easy 
matter to comprehend theoretically the transition from 
pleasure to action. Nevertheless, there can be no doubt 
that the pleasure taken in an achievement operates as 
an incentive to new achievements. 

It is not my intention to give a classification of 
children’s play ; for that can be found in the works of 
Groos, Biihler, and Stern. Accordingly, our discussion 
of the subject ends at this point. 


In this book I have tried to give an introduction 
to the study of child-psychology by pointing out the 
302 


THE WORLD OF A’ CHILD 


principles in accordance with which the behaviour and 
development of the child may be comprehended. But 
the reader must not conclude from my book that all 
the riddles have been solved, and all the questions 
answered; for this would not be true. The general 
aim of my book has been but to point out a way in 
which the solution of these numerous problems can be 
attained. The nature of mental development as it has 
been revealed to us is not the bringing together of 
separate elements, but the arousal and perfection of 
more and more complicated configurations in which 
both the phenomena of consciousness and the functions 
of the organism go hand in hand. 


356 


NOTES 


List of Books frequently referred to in these Notes 


BECHER, E., Gehirn und Seele, Heidelberg, 1911. Referred to as GS. 


Bouter, K., Geistige Entwicklung (Full title on page 36). Referred 
to as GE. 


PB “ Abriss der geistigen Entwicklung (Full title on page 36). 
Referred to as AG. 


CLAPAREDE, E., Experimental Pedagogy and the Psychology of the 
Child (Full title on page 36). 


Compayre, G., Intellectual and Moral Development of the Child, 
Parts I. and II. (Full title on page 36). 


EpINGER, L., Vorlesungen wiber den Bau der nervosen Zentralorgane 
dey Menschen und der Tiere, Vol. I., 8th ed., Leipzig, 
1911. Referred to as Z, 


Groos, K., Seelenleben (Full title on page 36). Referred to as SK. 


ree oe Die Spiele dey Tiere, 2nd ed., Jena, 1907. English 
edition, The Play of Animals, New York, 1898. 
Referred to as PA. 


» » Die Spiele dey Menschen, Jena, 1907. English edition, 
The Play of Man, New York, 1901. Referred to 
as PM. 


James, W., The Principles of Psychology, 2 vols. (1890), New York, 
1905. 


Karka, G., Einfiihrung in die Tierpsychologie auf experimenteller 
und ethologischer Grundlage, I. Die Sinne der Wir- 
bellosen, Leipzig, 1914. 


KOHLER, W., “‘ Optische Untersuchungen am Schimpansen und am 
Haushuhn,”’ Abhandlung d. K. Preus. Ak. der 
Wiss., Jhrg. 1915, Phys.-math. Kl., Nr. 3. Referred 
toas OU. (Separate edition). 


< a “Intelligenzpriifung an Anthropoiden,” I. ibid., 
Jhrg. 1917, Nr.1. ReferredtoasZ. (Separate edition). 
Also in book form: Jntelligenzprufiingen an Men- 
schenaffen, Berlin, 1921, 2nd ed. Page references to 
the book are given in parenthesis. (Eng. transl., sub. 
tit. ‘The Mentality of Apes,’ will be published in the 
autumn of 1924 by Kegan Paul & Co. (New York: 
Harcourt, Brace & Co.) ). 

- Pe “ Nachweis einfacher Strukturfunktionen beim Schim- 
pansen und beim Haushuhn. Uber eine neue Methode 
zur Untersuchung des bunten Farbensystems,”’ ibid., 
Jhrg. 1918, Nr. 2. Referred to as StF. (Separate 
edition). 

- 4 Die physischen Gestalien in Ruhe und in stationdren 
Zustand. Eine natur-philosophische Untersuchung, 
Braunschweig, 1920. Referred to as PhG. 


357 


NOTES 


Ltvy-BruHut, L., Les Fonctions Mentales dans les Sociétés Inférieures, 
2nd ed., Paris, 1912. 

McDouaa ti, W., Outline of Psychology, New York, 1923. 

Moore, K. C., ‘‘ The Mental Development of a Child,’’ Psycho- 
logical Review Monograph Supplement, Nr. 3, 1896. 

Morean, C. Lioyp, Habit and Instinct, London and New York, 
1896. 

PREYER, W., The Mind of the Child, Parts I. and II. (Full title on 
page 35). 

SHINN, M. W., ‘‘ Notes on the Development of a Child,’’ Univ. of 
California Studies, Vol. I., 1-4, 1893-99. 

STERN, W., Psychologie dey Kindheit (Full title on page 36). 
Referred to as Psdk. 

» » Person und Sache, System der philosophischen Welt- 
anschauung. I. ‘‘ Ableitung und Grundlehre,’’ Leipzig, 
1906. Referred to as PS. II. ‘‘Die menschliche 
Personlichkeit,’’ Leipzig, 1918. Referred to as MP. 

STERN, CLARA and W., Kindersprache (Full title on page 37). 
Referred to as Sp. 

- Evinnerung, etc. (Full title on page 37). 
Referred to as EA. (Separate edition). 

Stumpr, C., “ Eigenartige sprachliche Entwicklung eines Kindes,”’ 
Ztschr. f. pad. Psychol. u. Pathol., 3, Heft. 6, 1901. 
Referred to as SpE. (Separate edition). 

SULLY, J., Studies of Childhood (Full title on page 36). 

THORNDIKE, E. L., Animal Intelligence, Experimental Studies, 
New York, 1911. Referred to as Al. 

3 Educational Psychology, I., The Original 
” Nature of Man, New York, 1913. Referred to as EP. 
(The third volume of this work was not available for 
my use). 

VoLKELT, H., ‘“‘ Uber die Vorstellungen der Tiere. Ein Beitrag zur 
Entwicklungspsychologie,”’ Arb. z. Entwicklungspsy- 
chologie, edited by F. Kriiger, J, 2, Leipzig and 
Berlin, 1914. 

Watson, J. B., Behaviour, an Introduction to Comparative Psycho- 
logy, New York, 1914. Referred to as B 

. ” Psychology from the Standpoint of a Behaviourist, 
Philadelphia, 1919. Referred to as PB, 


358 


NOTES TO CHAPTER I 


(1) This holds also for the principle of convergence advanced by 
Stern and frequently employed by him in child-psychology (cf. p. 61). 
The principle is derived from more general considerations, as may 
be seen from Stern’s philosophical works (cf. especially MP, p. 95 f.). 


(2) Of course we should not deny the existence of the most 
intimate connection between behaviour and experience; on the 
contrary, that is precisely our view, but here we are dealing only 
with the systematic question of awareness. 


(3) I have recently discussed this problem from the point of view 
adopted in this book. Cf. ‘‘ Zur Theorie der Erlebnis-Wahrneh- 
mung,” Annalen dey Philos., III., pp. 375-399. 


(4) This conclusion can not here be more definitely established, 
but in my opinion it excludes the possibility, not only of mensura- 
tion, but also, contrary to appearances, of any true enumeration 
of the phenomena. 


(5) In the sense employed on page 8. 


(6) We can altogether disregard the problem how we know 
anything of the consciousness of our fellow-creatures. Our previous 
criterion was simply the possibility of communication. 


(7) Compare the following also with G. Kafka’s discussion, 
PaG) tt. 


(8) But consider again what was said in note 2. Rubin reports 
the converse proposition, that one can follow the contours of a 
figure without making eye-movements, as, for instance, on an after- 
image. In this case the impression is always given that eye-move- 
ments are actually being made. Cf. Rubin’s book referred to in 
note 115 on p. 365. 


(9) We must decline to enter here into a criticism of psycho-vi- 
talism. The argument of the text is directed less against this theory 
than it is against many other current modes of explanation in 
psychology. In my opinion the difficulties with which a psycho- 
logical theory of consciousness has previously been burdened are 
now overcome, so that one of the main stays of psycho-vitalism has 
fallen away. 

(10) Thorndike, whose position is in many ways close to that 
of the behaviourists, also employs the term behaviour, as we do, so 
as to include the phenomenal aspect of conduct. 

(11) Cf. my Evlebnis-Wahrnehmung (note 3). 

(12) Cf. W. Kohler, Die Methoden der psychologischen Forschung 
an Affen, Handbuch der biol. Arbeitsmethoden. Edited by Abder- 
halden, Abt. vi. Teil D, p. 69 ff. 

(13) Fundamentally their physiological theory is only a transla- 
tion into physiological terms of the psychological atomism which 


359 


NOTES 


they have rejected, as I have pointed out in my review of Watson’s 
Psychology (cf. Psychologische Forschung, 2, 1922, p. 382f.). No 
physiological theory can be independent of psychological theory. 
This does not imply an explanation in the sense attacked above, 
but simply an adequate treatment of the facts. Thus, the analysis 
of consciousness into sensations would be a psychological theory 
even if one proceeded to explain the isolated sensations physio- 
logically ; and likewise it would be a psychological theory if one 
were to deny the concept of sensation, and substitute another, for 
which a physiological explanation would then have to be sought. 

(14) Kohler, J, page 70. 

(15) Ibid., page 71. 

(16) Meantime Kohler has attacked this problem in all its bearings 
in the article cited in note 12, and has indicated the direction in 
which we must look for its solution. Scheler, also, in his book on 
Sympathy treats of the perception of another person’s mind, his 
views being in some respects the same as our own. (Cf. M. Scheler, 
Wesen und Formen dey Sympathie; Die Phdnomenologie der Sym- 
pathiegefuihle, 2nd ed., Bonn, 1923). 

(17) It may be objected that we are now defending a procedure 
which we have just denied ; namely, the inference from functional 
to descriptive facts. In reply, I would say that I have opposed 
such an inference on account of the false conclusions which have been 
drawn therefrom. Here, however, our conclusion is drawn from 
functional observations which terminate in functional activities, 
though by the roundabout way of descriptive concepts. This 
functional inference can, however, be tested ; therefore the descrip- 
tive middle-term can do no harm, and may be of the greatest 
benefit in reaching an explanation. Cf. also Kohler’s discussion 
with reference to consciousness in animal-psychology. OU, p. 56A. 

(18) Z, p. 58. 

(19) To be sure, now one part and now the other, is more strongly 
developed according to the living conditions of the animal. Cf. 
Edinger, Z, p. 59. 

(20) Z, p. 507. 

(21) Under certain conditions experimenter and observer may be 
the same person. 

(22) Cf. with this, Chap. IV., p. 234. 

(23) Cf. Bihler’s discussion, GE, p. 53 ff. 

(24) In Chap. IV., p. 193, an application of this procedure to 
animal-psychology is described. 

(25) Detailed instructions for planning and keeping child-diaries 
are given by Stern, Psdk, p. 13 f. 

(26) O. Kiilpe, Psychologie und Medizin. Zéschy. f. Patho- 
psychologie, I., 1912, p. 12 of the separate edition. 


360 


NOTES 


NOTES IO CHAPTER [1 


(27) Cases are not here considered in which the conditions of life 
of an individual or of a species suddenly undergo a marked change. 

(28) Cf. in this connection, Lloyd Morgan, p. 16 f. 

(29) PS, pp. 299-300. 

(30) Biihler has recently spoken of the “‘ chimpanzee-age ” of 
the child. GE, p. 77. 

(31) I, p. 75 (66). Cf. also his description of the animal’s 
behaviour when touched with an electrically-charged wire, I, 
p. 65 (58). 

(32) R. A. Acher, ‘“‘ Spontaneous Constructions and Primitive 
Activities of Children Analogous to those of Primitive Man,’’ Amer. 
Journal of Psychology, 1910, 21. 

(33) A clear and straightforward presentation may be found in 
the Naturphilosophie of E. Becher, Kultur der Gegenwart, Leipzig 
and Berlin, 1914. 

(84) Claparéde, p. 188. 

(35) According to Claparéde, p. 188, note. 

(36) Sp, p. 263. 

(37) Cf. Groos, SK, p. 8. 

(38) PsdkK, p. 224. 

(39) In other places Stern advances other views which I can not 
list here. He finds the inner essence of human unity in recapitula- 
tion, and speaks of the common heritage of the entelechy-character 
which passes from the species to the individual. But these con- 
ceptions can be understood only in relation to his philosophical 
system, and are consequently outside the range of our discussion. 
Cianeonproc#t., MEP pe 110: 

(40) Cf. Claparéde, p. 188 f. 

(41) PsdK, p. 18. Cf. also MP, p. 95 ff. 

(42) Most of the psychological text-books—and especially the 
large works of Ebbinghaus, Wundt, and Watson—contain detailed 
descriptions ; as does also Becher’s GS. 

(43) Edinger, Z, p. 46. 

(44) Z, p. 522. Some time ago I discussed Edinger’s views in a 


brief paper entitled: ‘‘ Ein neuer Versuch eines objectiven Systems 
der Psychologie,” Zischr. f. Psychol., 61, 1912. 
(45) Z, p. 523. 


(46) L. Edinger and B. Fischer, “‘ Ein Mensch ohne Grosshirn,” 
Archiv. f. d. ges. Physiol., 152, 1913. 


(47) CE. Le., p. 27. 


NOTES: TO CHAPTER III 


(48) Soltmann, ‘‘ Uber einige physiologische Eigentiimlich- 
keiten der Muskeln und Nerven der Neugeborener,” Jahrbuch fiir 
Kinderheilhunde, 12, 1878. 

(49) Cf. M. Gildemeister, ‘‘ Uber einige Analogien zwischen der 
Wirkung optischer und elektrischer Reize,”’ Ztschr. f. Sinnesphysiol., 
48, 1914; also P. Cermak and K. Koffka, ‘‘ Untersuchungen iiber 
Bewegungs- und Verschmelzungsphanomene,” Psychol. Forschung, 


361 


NOTES 


1, 1921, especially p. 100f. The term fusion which is used in the 
text corresponds with customary terminology, but tells us absolutely 
nothing in regard to the theory of the phenomenon. A theoretical 
discussion will be found in the second article cited above. 


(50) This number is dependent upon so many factors that we shall 
here be obliged to content ourselves with an approximate statement. 


(51) With very rapidly moving motion -pictures a different 
phenomenon appears. Motion is again lost, and one sees the moving 
object multiplied. For example, a gymnast jumping over a horse 
may be seen, during the jump, with six stationary legs. The 
same phenomenon of multiplication is well known with alternating 
beams of light—as produced, for example, when the hand with out- 
spread fingers is moved rapidly back and forth. 


(52) Cf. Preyer, I, p. 44, Biihler, GE, p. 97, and Moore, p. 57. 


(53) It is not denied that experience may be involved in the 
development of seen-movement, but the question is how ? 


(54) The authors do not draw this conclusion, but are very cautious 
in expressing themselves on this point. Cf. op. cit. p. 1. 


(55) Ibid., p. 4. Also, when Preyer asserts (I, p. 214) that a 
child born without a cortex produced crude sounds when his back 
was rubbed, this does not seem to have been an altogether normal 
reaction. 

(56) Preyer, I, pp. 196-7. 

(57) Psdk, pp. 31-2. 


(58) As Preyer points out, such movements may of course under 
certain conditions be directly harmful. Thus a child may during 
sleep open one eye with a movement of its hand and go on sleeping 
with this eye open. 

(59) The same state of affairs is naturally to be found in the 
sensory field, where it is referred to as the “‘ law of specific sense- 
energies ’’ (Johannes Miiller). Also, the processes which take 
place in the sensory centres of the brain as correlates of the pheno- 
mena of sense-perception are the specific processes characteristic of 
distinct domains. ‘The reader will find a brief Presentation of the 
data on this subject in an article by W. Nagel, ‘‘ Die Lehre von den 
spezifischen Sinnes-energien,’’ Handbuch der Physiologie, edited by 
W. Nagel, 3, 1905, p. 1. 

(60) For an orientation into the complicated subject of eye- 
movements, which can only be touched upon here—and also for 
the facts concerning space-perception in general—the following 
book is recommended: St. Witasek, Psychologie der Raumwahrneh- 
mung des Auges, Heidelberg, 1910. References to other original 
sources will be found in subsequent notes. 


(61) Ewald Hering, Die Lehre vom Mpa ae Sehen (first part). 
Leipzig, 1868, p. 22 and p. 3. 


(62) H. v. Helmholtz, Handbuch der shucolberhas Optik., 
3rd ed., revised by Gullstrand, Von Kries, and Nagel, 3, Leipzig, 
1910, p. 48. 


(63) Cf. with this, Hering, op. cit., p. 18 ff. 


(64) Jbid., pp. 22-23. Kohler has observed the same relations 
in the co-ordinations of chimpanzees, J, p. 189 (173). 


(65) Cf. Von Kries’ statement in Helmholtz’s book cited above, 
p. 514 (note). 


(66) Ibid., p. 511 ff. 
362 


NOTES 


(67) Cf. PB, p. 243. 
(68) Cf. Buhler, GE, p. 95 f. 


(69) Bihler, GE, p.97. The italics are mine. Biihler reaches no 
decision whether the connection is inherited or acquired, and whether 
it is brought about by maturation or by experience. 


(70) This last behaviour is designated as the principle of the 
greatest hovopiey. Cf. with this, E. Hering, Bettrdge zur Physiologie, 
4, Leipzig, 1864, p. 261 ff. 


(71) Hering’s principle of avoiding illusory movement, 1b7d., 
p. 265 ff. Helmholtz’s related principle of easiest orientation 
(op. cit., p. 55) which Hering attacks, shows by its name the close 
relation between seeing and eye-movements. 


(72) PAG. 


(73) Cf. Kohler, PAG, pp. 27, 201-2, 262-3. Investigations 
which A. Marina published, first in 1905, and then in revised form 
in 1910, are in full agreement with Kohler’s point of view. Marina 
operated upon apes, first by exchanging the medial rectus and 
lateral rectus muscles of an eye, and later so as to substitute the 
superior rectus for the lateral rectus. In the first case, therefore, 
the eye was moved outward by the previously inward-moving 
muscle, and vice versa. In the second case the muscle moving the 
eye outward was eliminated and its place taken by a lifting muscle. 
If a definite impulse were conducted from the centre through the 
pathway to each muscle, the animal must have made the most 
remarkable eye-movements after the wound had healed. But, 
instead, the voluntary and automatic sideward movements of the 
eyes were carried out in a normal manner as soon as the cicatrization 
was complete. From this and other results the author concludes 
“that the anatomical association-pathways from the centres to the 
eye-muscles are not fixed,’’ and that the conduction pathways have 
no predetermined function. Considering the results of other opera- 
tions of transplantation, he seeks to justify his attribution of a very 
general significance to this conclusion, and demands a new founda- 
tion for the physiology of the brain. The validity of his inference 
and its bearing upon brain-anatomy and physiological psychology 
is also admitted by Ziehen in a review of one of Marina’s investiga- 
tions, though out of respect for the older theory Ziehen thinks that 
certain errors have probably been made in the experiments. Cf. 
A. Marina, ‘“‘ Die Kelationen des Palaeencephalons (Edinger) sind 
nicht fix,’’ Neurol. Centralbi., 34, 1915, pp. 338-345, and the review 
of this article by Ziehen in the Zettschr. f. Psychol., 73, 1915, pp. 
142-3. 


(74) Cf. Preyer, I, p. 79; Shinn, I, p. 22, 109 f., and 129. 

(76) Cf. Thorndike, EP, p. 48; Preyer, I, p. 256; Watson, 
PB, p. 241. 

(76) Preyer, I, p. 259. 

(77) According to Compayré, I, p. 83-4. 

(78) Cf. above all, Lloyd Morgan, then Preyer, I, p. 236 ff., and 
James, II, p. 383 ff. 


(79) Morgan, pp. 122-4. A similar observation may be found 
in James, II, p. 400. 

(80) James, II, p. 385. James’ chapter on instinct is written 
with all the charm ot his vivid style of presentation. Although I 


363 


NOTES 


cannot subscribe to his theoretical conclusions, I recommend the 
reading of this chapter most highly. <A brief statement of the 
history of the concept of instinct may be found in Groos, PA, 
p. 25 ff. 


(81) p. 106. (82) Thorndike, EP, p. 1. 

(83) EP, p. 123 ff. (84) EP, p. 1384, repeated from AJ, p. 35. 
(85) GS, p. 397 ff. 

(86) Cf. Kohler, J, for example p. 51, (46), and elsewhere. 


(87) Inarecent paper H. C. Link has reached conclusions similar to 
those appearing in the sequel of our text. Ct. Amer. Journal of 
Psychology, 33, 1922. 


(88) Cf. Groos, PM, p. 146. 


(89) W. McDougall, ‘‘Use and Abuse of Instinct in Social 
Psychology,” Jour. of Abn. and Soc. Psychol., 16, 1921-2, pp. 293, 
325, 330; Ouiline of Psychology, 1923, pp. 110, 128; Lloyd Morgan, 
“Instinctive Behaviour and Enjoyment,’ British Journal of 
Psychology, 12, 1921. 


(90) PhG, p. xiii. Counterparts of our concepts of end- and 
transitional situations are found by the vitalists in the morphologico- 
physiological domain. Thus Driesch distinguishes between “‘ com- 
pleteness’’ and ‘“‘incompleteness,’ and defines the former as 
“allowing no sequential processes to take place from internal causes 
without a co-ordinate disturbance of form.’’ Cf. H. Driesch, Die 
organischen fegulationen, Vorbeveitungen zu einer Theorie des 


Lebens, Leipzig, 1901, p. 84. 


(91) M. Wertheimer, ‘‘Experimentelle Studien iiber das Sehen 
von Bewegungen,” Zischr. f. Psychol., 61, 1912, p. 251 f. (Frankf. 
Habil-Schr., p. 91). 


(92) These conditions, which I have omitted from the text, in order 
not to confuse readers who are not proficient in natural science, have 
been formulated by Kéhler as follows (PhG, p. 250): ‘‘ In every 
process which issues at all in an end-situation, independent of time, 
the mode of distribution shifts in the direction of a minimum of 
configurative energy.’ The last-mentioned considerations in the 
text all follow K6hler’s book. The next citation in the text being 
from p. 257. 


(93) In the article referred to in note 89, McDougall also 
vigorously refutes the hypothesis that instincts may be explained in 
terms of connections between neurones, but he is less radical than 
we are, since he leaves the existence of motor mechanisms un- 
questioned. According to McDougall an instinct employs divers 
motor mechanisms on different occasions. Op. cit., p. 116f. Our 
considerations are based upon instinctive activities which lead to an 
immediate conclusion, such as nest-building, ete. Aside from these 
there are others the successful termination of which is only felt a 
long time after the performance has taken place, and sometimes 
only by the organism of the following generation. For these in- 
stances, our discussion is inadequate, as one of my critics has rightly 
pointed out (Psychologische Forschung, 3, p. 203). It is certainly of 
importance, though it would be a difficult task, to extend our hypo- 
thesis, so that it might be adequate to cover all these instances. 


(94) Bergson has devoted a detailed investigation of the philo- 
sophy of nature to the relation of instinct and intelligence. For 
him instinct and intelligence represent two different and equally 


304 


ST 


NOTES 


attractive solutions to one and the same problem. Cf. Cvreative 
Evolution, New York, 1911, p. 185 ff., viz. especially p. 143. Recent 
discussions of the problem of instinct have led to the expression of 
many ideas similar to those of this text ; for instance Lloyd Morgan’s 
article cited in note 89, and I. R. Kantor’s “‘ The Psychology of 
Reflex-Action,” in the American Journal of Psychology, 23, 1922. 


(95) GS, p. 401. 

(96) Psdk, p. 34. 

(97) AG, p. 46. 

(98) Cf. Morgan, p. 41. 

(99) Cf. Kafka, p. 466. 

(100) This.conclusion is also maintained by McDougall. 

(101) Cf. Watson, B, p. 125f. 

(102) J, p. 64 (58). 

(103) J, p. 75 (68). 

(104) Thorndike, curiously enough, thinks it probable that 


ornamenting, tatooing, etc., are modes of behaviour acquired by 
successful achievements. Cf. EP, p. 140. 


(105) Quoted from Thorndike, EP, p. 159 note. 


(106) Cf. Kohler, Methoden (note 12), p. 75 ff., especially 79, and 
100 ff. 

(107) Biihler, GE, p. 86. 

(108) The ear seems to furnish an exception, since at birth the 
middle-ear is filled with fluid instead of air so that no transfer of 
tone-stimulation to the sense-organ within the inner-ear can take 
place. All new-born infants are therefore deaf, but they react to 
sound as soon as the fluid has disappeared from the middle-ear. 

(109) PsdK, p. 37. 

(110) To my knowledge it has not yet been demonstrated whether 
the protective reflex-action of the tensor tympani (the drum-mem- 
brane muscle) is already functional; and such a demonstration 
might be difficult to make, but probabilities favour the conclusion 
that it is functional. 


(111) GE, Ist ed. (1918), p. 355. 
(112) EP, p. 301 ff. 


(113) Cf. with this the discussion of Volkelt with reference to 
“learning capacity ’”’ and “‘ incapacity to learn,”’ p. 12@ ff. 

(114) I, p. 295. 

(115) Cf. in this connection Kéhler, PhG, pp. 52 ff., 192, 207. 
The phenomenal and functional differences between figure and 
ground have been treated in detail in a monograph by E. Rubin: 
Synsoplevede Figurey, Kobenhavn og Kristiania, 1915. (German 
ed.: Visuell wahrgenommene Figuren, Copenhagen, 1921). 


(116) The assertion of the existence of these simplest elements 
does not necessarily include the assertion of their temporal priority. 
(Cf. Stern, PsdK, p. 56). But even Stern’s own view seems to me 
insufficient. It is not enough to recognize the mere diffuseness by 
which he characterizes the original state. See the little paper by 
Wertheimer on the principles involved in these matters which has 
just appeared: ‘‘ Untersuchungen zur Lehre von der Gestalt. I, 
Prinzipielle Bemerkungen,” Psychologische Forschung, 1, 1921. 


365 


NOTES 


(117) This fact is emphasized particularly by Mrs Moore. For 
example, p. 51. 


(118) Stern, PsdK, p. 61. 

(119) StF, p. 49 (note). 

(120) Cf. Scheler, Sympathie (note 16), p. 275. 
(121) Cf. for example Stern, PsdK, p. 38. 
(122) Cf. Lévy-Bruhl, p. 27 ff. 


(123) M. Brod and F. Weltsch, Auschauung und Begriff, Leipzig, 
1913, p. 6. 


(124) So Wertheimer reported at the 5th Congress for experimental 
psychology in Berlin, 1912. 


(125) The method employed by Katz and Révész, in which the 
*“ grain denied to the fowl’’ was simply glued fast to the plate, can 
not be employed with large and powerful birds, which are able to 
tear the grain loose. Cf. Kohler, OU, p. 58. 


(126) Kohler, StF, pp. 12-13. 
(127) StF, p. 24. 


NOTES TO CHAPTER IV 


(128) Cf. for example Thorndike, EP, pp. 25, 201. 


(129) Exact descriptions of the conditions of the experiment may 
be found in Thorndike, AJ, and in Watson, B. 


(130) An arrangement of the opposite kind is also possible, where 
the food is in the box and the animal outside; but this does not in 
any way alter the principle. Cf. Watson, B. 


(131) p. 165. 

(132) GE, pp. 5, 113. 

(133) GE, p. 209. 

(134) AT, p. 108 f. 

(135) GE, p. 6. 

ya te ps LOS st, 

(137) Watson, B, pp. 186, 259-60. 

(138) Cf. the following -vith Watson, B, p. 262 f. 
(139) Cf. Thorndike, EP, p. 185 ff. 


(140) Cf. Watson, B, p. 257. In his second book, Watson expresses 
himself with greater restraint. After discussing four theoretical 
possibilities, he recognizes the hypothetical character of the whole 
matter and refrains from accepting any one of them. PB, p. 294-5. 

(141) Thorndike subsumes under this law two groups of facts: 
that a bond is strengthened by use, and that it is weakened by long 
disuse. EP, p. 171 f. 

(142) GE, p. 113. 

(143) According to Stout, in A Manual of Psychology, 3rd ed., 
London, 1913, p. 382. Cf. in general, Stout’s keen criticism of 
Thorndike’s theory. Examples like those cited in the text will also 
be found in Thorndike, AJ, p. 72. 

(144) EP, p. 188 f. 

(145) EP, p. 172 f. 

366 





a ee ee ee a, ee 


NOTES 


(146) EP, pp. 281-2. 

(147) AT, pp. 43-4. 

(148) Lloyd Morgan, pp. 152-3. 

(149) AT, p. 119. 

(150) Cf. with this Kohler, J, p. 19 f. (16 f.). 
) 


(151) Not all the curves have been reproduced. One of an animal 
which was first tested in the wooden-latch box appears more like 
the second curves reproduced by us in Fig. 8. 


(152) AJ, p. 48. The italics are mine. 
(153) AT, p. 119. 

ado) Cf. with this AJ, p.117f.; and Kohler, J, pp. 10 (8), 142 
(155) Kohler, J, p. 20 (17). 

(156) Thorndike, AJ, p. 48. 

(157) McDougall, Outline, p. 196 ff. 


(158) H. A. Ruger, “‘ The Psychology of Efficiency,’’ Archives of 
Psychology, Nr. 15, 1910. 

(159) Jbid., p. 9. 

(160) Kohler, J. 

(161) J, p. 5 (3). 

(162) Recently also J. Peiser, ‘‘ Priifungen héherer Gehirnfunk- 
tionen bei Kleinkindern,” Jhb. f. Kinderheilkunde und physische 
Erziehung, 91, 1920. 

(163) J, p. 9 (6, 7). 

(164) J, p. 22 (19). The same results were obtained in similar 
experiments made by W. T. Shepherd. Dogs and cats can not 
make use of string-connections (or even simpler relations), but 
Rhesus monkeys—which do not belong to the anthropoids—have 
no such difficulty. Cf. ‘‘ Tests on Adaptive Intelligence in Rhesus 
Monkeys,” Amer. Jour. of Psych., 26, 1915. 


(165) J, p. 31 (28). 

(166) J, p. 28 (25). 

(167) Biihler, GE, p. 21. 

(168) Kohler, J, p. 33 ff. (30 ff.). 


(169) One can not interpret this behaviour as indicating merely 
that the box was previously too heavy for the animal, because in 
an earlier experiment the ape had actually pushed a box upon which 
Tercera was lying; but the problem then was only one of removing 
an obstacle. Cf. J, p. 141 (128 f.). 

(070) 7; p. 100 £. (91 £.). 

(Pier. pwlOb ff. (96 f.). 

(172) J, p. 181 (166). 

(173) Cf. also J, p. 191-2 (175). 

(174) I, p. 197 (180). 

(175) J, p. 151 (138). 

(176) Z, pp. 153-4 (140f.). Cf. with this also the above men. 
tioned results of Ruger (pp. 127-8). 

(177) I, p. 123 (112). 

(178) I, p. 186 (170). According to the general plan of his work, 
Kohler leaves the decision open between the explanation we have 


367 


NOTES 


made in the text and some other possibility. But after his later 
publications, StF, and PAG, there can be no doubt as to which 
possibility he really accepts. 


(179) GE, p. 9ff.; AG, p. 16 ff. 
(180) C£. with this GE, p. 390. 


(181) Cf. also Biihier, Die Gestaltwahrnehmungen, I, Stuttgart, 
1913, p. 16 ff. I do not believe that Buhler still maintains this 
doctrine in all strictness ; although other passages in GE (p. 358), 
besides the one cited, indicate a like tendency. In still another 
chapter Biihler develops quite a different theory of perceived rela- 
tions, which can not be here considered. Kohler refutes it, however, 
in a recent article, ““ Zur Theorie des Sukzessivvergleichs und der 
Zeitfehler.,’’ Psychol. Forschung, 4, 1923, p. 125 ff. 

(182) The doctrine of unnoticed sensations, which finds its 
classical expression in the first volume of Stumpf’s Tonpsychologie 
(1883), was attacked by Cornelius in his Psychologie als Evfahrungs- 
wissenschaft (1897). More recently Kohler has written a paper 
bearing directly upon this subject: ‘“‘ Uber unbemerkte Empfind- 


ungen und Urteilstauschungen,”’ Ztschr. f. Psychol., 66, 1913. Cf. also . 


my paper: ‘‘ Probleme der experimentellen Psychologie,” in Die 
Naturwissenschaften, 5, 1917, Nos. 1 and 2. 

(183) GE, pp. 350, 354 f. 

(184) Stimmen der Zeit, 95, 1918, p. 391. 

(185) Cf. especially GE, pp. 17, 25. 

(186) I must, indeed, express doubt as to whether this can be 
readily explained as an after-effect of memory. (Cf. above p. 206). 

(187) GE, p. 14 f. 

(188) GE, p. 22. 

(189) Biihler speaks (GE, p. 25) of a (relatively) vivid impulse of 
imagining. 

(190) Cf. Kohler, J, pp. 210-11 (192) ; and Biihler, GE, p. 312. 

(191) Thorndike’s criticism is directed against the formulation of 
just such hypotheses. 

(192) Op. cit., p. 288. 

(193) Ibid., p. 391. 

(194) Cf. the following with Kohler, StF, p. 56 ff. 

(195) Stimmen der Zeit, 97, 1919, p. 66. Meanwhile J. Lind- 
worsky has published a clearly written paper upon his general 
psychological theories, with special reference to his theory of relations. 

Cf. ‘‘ Unriss-skizze zu einer theoretischen Psychologie,” Zei#- 
schrift fiiy Psychologie, 89, 1922). This theory of relations is critically 
examined by Kohler in the article cited in note 181. 

(196) Cf. Volkelt, p. 15 ff. 


(197) ‘‘ Einige Allgemeinere Fragen der Psychologie und Biologie 
des Denkens, erlautert an der Lehre vom Vergleich,’’ Arb. z. Psychol. 
u. Phil., edited by E. R. Jaensch, I, Leipzig, 1920. Apparently 
Kohler’s publication was unknown to Jaensch, since he does not 
mention it. 

(198) K6hler, StF, p. 13. We have already given the full quota- 
tion on p. 140. 

(199) Jaensch, op. cit., p. 24. Cf. Bihler, GE, p. 174, and the 
similar statements of Lindworsky, Stimmen der Zeit, 97, p. 64 f. 


368 


NOTES 


(200) Jaensch, op. cit., p. 21. 


(201) According to Jaensch (p. 20), transitional experiences are 
“of the same kind as the phenomena of movement described by 
Linke, Wertheimer, and Koffka.’”’ But these phenomena of move- 
ment are from our point of view only typical phenomena of con- 
figuration. Cf. also Wertheimer’s work cited in note 91. 

(202) Op. cit., p. 28. 

(203) Cf. with this K6éhler’s discussion in the work cited in note 182. 

(204) GE, pp. 177-8. 


(205) Cf. Kohler’s ‘“ Akustische Untersuchungen,” especially 
II] and IV, ‘‘ Vorlaufige Mittlg.,’’ Ztschr. f. Psychol., 64, 1913, p. 99 ff. 
and III, ibid., 72, 1915, p. 121 ff. This conclusion has now been 
fully confirmed by the investigation of M. Eberhardt performed in 
KGhler’s laboratory, which reduces clang-analysis to quantitative 
terms. Cf. ‘“‘ Uber die phdnomenale Hohe und Starke von Teil- 
ténen,’”’ Psychologische Forschung, 2, 1922. 


(206) This law cuts across another; viz. that ceteris paribus, the 
colour-threshold is lower for a dark field than for a bright one. The 
fact reported in the text was first pointed out by Stumpf (‘‘ Die 
Attribute der Gesichtsempfindungen,’’ Abhdig. d. K. Preuss. Ak. 
d. Wiss., Jhrg., 1917, Phil.- Hist. Kl., Nr. 8, p. 84 f. which includes 
references to earlier investigations of the subject). I myself reported 
an investigation before the Naturforscher-Versammlung at Nauheim 
(1920) which substantiates and supplements Stumpf’s conclusions, 
and I employed then the point of view of the psychology of configura- 
tion. These experiments have since been carried forward in my 
laboratory, and published in the Psychologische Forschung, 5, 1924. 
Even the differential threshold for brightness is dependent upon the 
brightness of the field surrounding the surface to be tested, and the 
threshold is minimal when background and surface tested have the 
same degree of brightness. This was demonstrated by F. Dittmers 
in the Gdttingen laboratory (‘‘ Uber die Abhangigkeit der Unter- 
schiedsschwelle fiir Helligkeiten von der antagonistischen Induktion,”’ 
Ztschr. f. Sinnesphysiol., 61, 1920). But to find here a configurative 
uniformity does not mean that an exact physico-chemical explana- 
tion must be given up, and the advantages of the Miiller colour-theory 
abandoned ; for configurative uniformities are also physico-chemical 
—a statement which is hardly necessary to readers of Kohler’s 
book on physical configurations. 


(207) Cf. also the discussion of transitional sensations in Kohler’s 
paper cited in note 181. 


(208) Certainly it does not agree with the description Kohler 
gives (OU, pp. 59-60) of learning in hens. 


(209) Kohler, J, p. 101 (92). 

(210) Stimmen der Zeit, p. 66. 
(211) GE, p. 2 ff. Cf. also p. 390. 
(212) Cf. Bihler, GE, p. 4. 

(213) K6hler, StF, p. 51. 

(214) StF, pp. 85-6. 


(215) Cf. G. E. Miiller, “‘ Zur Analyse der Gedachtnistatigkeit und 
des Vorstellungsverlaufs,” I, Erg.-Bd. 5, d. Zischr. f. Psychol., 1911, 
pp. 332 ff., 372. 


(216) Zbid., III., Erg.-Bd. 8, 1913, p. 210£. 
369 2A 


NOTES 


(217) Cf. A. Aall, “Ein neues Gedachtnisgesetz,” Zéschr. f. 
Psychol., 68, 1913, p. 43 f. 

(218) Cf. A. Kiihn, “‘ Uber Einpragung durch Lesen und Rezi- 
tieren,’’ Zitschr. f. Psychol., 68, 1914, p. 396 ff., especially pp. 443, 
473 f. 

(219) Cf. K. Lewin, “‘ Die psychische Tatigkeit bei der Hemmung 
von Willensvorgangen und das Grundgesetz der Assoziation,”’ 
Zitschy. f. Psychol., 77, 1917, p. 245; and ‘Das Problem der 
Willensmessung und das Grundgesetz der Assoziation,’’ Psychol. 
Forschung, 1 and 2, 1922. 

(220) Cf. Von Kries, Uber die materiellen Grundlagen der Bewusst- 
seins-Evscheinungen, Tiibingen und Leipzig, 1901; and Becher, GS, 
p. 161-327. 

(221) Op. cit., pp. 41-42. 

(222) GS, p. 284 ff. 

(223) The complacency with which the American behaviour- 
psychologists ignore this criticism is truly astounding. 


NOTES TO CHAPTER V 


(224) PsdK, p. 64. Cf. also Groos, SK, p. 34. 

(225) Shinn, I, p. 22, PsdK, p. 62. 

(226) Cf. also Bihler, GE, p. 302. 

(227) Bihler, GE, p. 319. 

(228) EA, p. 3 ff.: Psdk, p. 139 ff.: Biihler, GH, p. 299 f. 

(229) Cf. Stern, PsdK, p. 156. 

(230) Cf. E. R. Jaensch, “Die experimentelle Analyse der 
Anschauungsbilder als Hilfsmittel zur Untersuchung der Wahr- 
nehmungs- und Denkvorgange,’’ Sitz.-Ber. d. Ges. z. Bef. d. Ges. 
Naturwiss, za Marburg, 1917, No. 5. The same: “ Zur Methodik 
experimenteller Untersuchungen an optischen Anschauungsbildern,”’ 
Ztschr. f. Psychol., 85, 1920. Paula Busse, ‘‘ Uber die Gedachtnis- 
stufen und ihre Beziehung zum Aufbau der Wahrnehmungswelt,”’ 
Zischr. f. Psychol., 84, 1920. A vast amount of work has since been 
published by Jaensch and his students, a comprehensive view of 
which may be had from Jaensch’s ‘‘ Uber die subjektiven An- 
schauungsbilder,’”’ Bericht tibey d. VII. Kongvess f.. Exper. Psychol. 
in Marburg, Jena, 1922, p. 3-49; from O. Kroh, Subjektive An- 
schauungsbilder der Jugendlichen, Gottingen, 1922, and from my 
critical report in the Psychol. Forschung, 3, 1923. 


(231) Jaensch, Sitz.-Ber., pp. 64, 5. 

(232) Busse, op. cit., p. 48 ff. 

(233) Sp, p. 362 ff. 

(234) O. Selz, Uber die Gesetze des geordneten Denkver aufs, I, 
Stuttgart, 1913. 


(235) L. Schliiter, ‘‘ Experimentalle Beitrage zur Prifung der 
Anschauungs- und Ubersetzungsmethode bei der Einfiihrung in 
einen fremdsprachlichen Wortschatz,’”’ Zischr. f. Psychol., 68, 1914, 
p. 103 f. Cf. also the chapter on association by similarity in my 
book Zur Analyse der Vorstellungen und ihrer Gesetze, Leipzig, 
1912, pp. 343-360. 

370 


= 


-_- 





= 


—.. ee ee 


4 
= 


Peet 


NOTES 


(286) R. Heine, “ Uber Wiedererkennen und _riickwirkende 
Hemmung,” Ziéschr. f. Psychol., 68, 1914. 

(237) In the book just cited, p. 344 ff., which also contains a 
bibliography. Cf. also Wertheimer, op. cit., p. 252 (note). 

(238) Cf. Watson, B, p. 138 ff. 

(239) Cf. Compayré, I, p. 287 f. 

(240) Preyer, I, p. 241 ff.; Shinn, I, p. 306 ff.; Watson, PB, 
p. 275 ff. 

(241) GE, p. 113. Cf. also p. 8. 

(242) GE, pp. 102-3. 

(243) Op. cit. (note 220), pp. 21, 32 f. 

(244) Shinn, I, pp. 306-7. 

(245) Compayré, II, p.9f. Cf. also Preyer, I, p. 283 f. 

(246) Sp, p. 15; PsdK, p. 47. Cf. also Biihler, GE, pp. 
205-6. 

(247) L. E. Ordahl, ‘“ Consciousness in Relation to Learning,” 
Amer. Jour. of Psychol., 22, 1911, p. 189. 

(248) E. C. Rowe, ‘‘ Voluntary Movement,” Amer. Journ. of 
Psychol., 21, 1910, p. 331. 

(249) W. Betz, Psychologie des Denkens, Leipzig, 1918, p. 48 f. 

(250) Op. cit., p. 181 ff. 

(251) J, p. 139 (126), note. 

(252) With reference to the very interesting observations made by 
A. Gelb and K. Goldstein on a patient with high grade optical 
agnosia and a total loss of “‘ visual imagery,’’ special attention should 
be called to the following statement: ‘‘ The co-operation of vision 
in the act of grasping develops in such a way that the grasped object 
is first seen, but only later is the seen object grasped.’ Cf. Psycholo- 
gische Analysen Hirnpathologischer Falle, I, Leipzig, 1920. 

(253) Cf. Stern, PsdK, p. 121. 

(254) C. W. Valentine, ‘‘The Colour Perception and Colour 
Preferences of an Infant during its fourth and eighth months.”’ 
British Journal of Psychology, 1914, 6, p. 363 ff. 

(255) W. A. Holden and K. K. Bosse, ‘‘ The order of Development 
of Colour Perception and Colour Preference in the Child,” Archives 
of Ophthalmology, 1900, 29, 261 ff. 

(256) Sp, p. 229. The italics are mine. 

(257) The Sterns write (Sp, p. 229) “‘ that the difference between 
variegated and non-variegated colours is much more striking and 
important to the child than the difference between the different 
colours themselves.’’ Their explanation in terms of attention and 
lack of interest, instead of in terms of sensory factors, is refuted in 
our text. 

(258) Of the protanopic type (red-weak). 

(259) Cf. A. Binet, “‘ Perceptions d’Enfants,” Rev. Philos., 30, 
1899, and Winch, “ Colour-Names of English School Children,” 
Amer. Jour. of Psychol., 21, 1910. 

(260) Preyer also recognizes (I, p. 21) that this can not be altogether 
a matter of naming. 

(261) Buhler, GE, p. 184. 


(262) Kohler, StF, pp. 67-72. With the pair AB, B was chosen 
371 


NOTES 


19 times out of 20, and with the pair DE, E was selected in each of 
the 21 trials. 

(263) Stumpf, Spe, p. 20. 

(264) W. Peters, “ Zur Entwicklung der Farbenwahrnehmung 


nach Versuchen an abnormen Kindern,’”’ Fortschr. d. Psychol., 3, 
1915, pp. 152-3. 

(265) Op. cit., pp. 161-2. 

(266) The first part of the conclusion has not been completely 
demonstrated either, since no tests were made with violet samples. 
The erroneous classification of purple occurred only with the purple 
and not with the red sample. An analogous behaviour with the 
violet sample would therefore be a priori possible. 


(267) According to a report which K, Goldstein made before the 
Psychological Congress at Marburg (April 1921), it appears to me 
possible, if not even probable, that another and more direct relation 
exists between speech and colour-perceptions than the one assumed 
in the text. Goldstein’s publication should bring evidence on this 
point. 

(268) D. Katz, ‘‘ Die Erscheinungsweisen der Farben und ihre 
Beeinflussung durch die individuelle Erfahrung,”’ Erg.-Bd., 7, d. 
Zettschr. f. Psychol., 1911. 

(269) A. Gelb, ‘‘ Uber den Wegfall der Wahrnehmung von 
‘ Oberflachenfarben.’’’ In the collaborative work cited in note 282, 
p. 408. (Also in Zetischr. f. Psychol., 84, 1920, p. 247). 

(270) OU, p. 39 ff.; and “‘ Die Farben der Sehdinge beim Schim- 
pansen und beim Haushuhn,”’ Zischr. f. Psychol., 77, 1919. 

(271) Cf. Compayré, I, p. 104; Stern, PsdkK, p. 70 ff. 

(272) Details concerning these facts may be found in both of 
Jaensch’s books, Erg.-Bde., 4 and 6 d. Zischr. f. Psychol., 1909 and 
1911; and also in M. Jacobson’s “‘ Uber die Erkennbarkeit optischer 
Figuren bei gleichen Netzhautbild und verschiedener scheinbarer 
Grosse,” Ztschr. f. Psychol., 77, 1917. 

(273) Cf. Katz, op. cit., p. 97. 


(274) Cf. Stern, PsdK, p. 72; Bihler, GE, p. 336. In another 
place (p. 146), to be sure, Biihler expresses himself much more 
cautiously. 


(275) OU, p. 18 ff. A theoretical discussion is also given here. 
(276) Cf. here again Jaensch’s books cited in note 272. 


(277) That stimulation of the eyes by light is necessary for the 
development of the optical centres is shown by Claparéde’s report 
(pp. 126-7), that the visual centres of cats whose eyelids were sewn 
together at birth were arrested in their development. Cf. also 
Becher, GS, p. 177 f. 


(278) PsdK, p. 72. 


(279) Op. cit. (note 230), p. 59. Cf. also my critique cited in 
note 230. 


(280) PsdK, p. 120, The perception of simple geometrical forms 
can be tested systematically with the aid of outlines, instead of by 
Miss Shinn’s method. According to Preyer’s statements (I, p. 65) 
the results might then be quite different and more favourable. 
Thus at the end of the second year a child called a sketched circle 
a “ring,” a square a “‘ window,”’’ a triangle a “‘ roof,’’ etc. 

It mav also be mentioned that in an investigation which 


372 


a 


NOTES 


Groos made with a five-year-old girl he found that regularly formed 
figures were preferred to irregular figures—a result which deserves 
further investigation. Cf. PM, p. 62. 

(281) Lévy-Bruhl, pp. 188-9. 

(282) PsdK, p. 123 f. Cf. also W. Stern, ‘“ Uber verlagerte 
Raumformen,” Zéschr. f. angew. Psychol., 2, 1909; and Bihler, 
GE, p. 148. 

(283) GE, pp. 368-9. Cf. also the statements by Betz, op. cit., 
(cf. note 249), p. 50 f. 

(284) J. Wittmann, Uber das Sehen von Scheinbewegungen und 
Scheinkérpern., Leipzig, 1921. Tables 5 and 6. 

(285) Cf. Wittmann, op. cit., p. 171 ff. 

(286) GE, p. 254. 

(287) Op. cit., pp. 162-171. 

(288) Cf. Kohler, PAG, p. 253 ff. 

(289) Stern and Biihler do the same. 

(290) Sp, p. 212; PsdK, p.131f.; cf. also EA, pp. 9, 16. 

(291) GE, p. 129. 

(292) GE, p. 130. 

(293) Cl. and W. Stern, Sp, p. 163. Cf. the following with ibid., 
p. 164 ff. 

(294) PB, p. 278 f. 
ae ) K. Lewin, “‘ Kriegslandschaft,’”’ Ztschr. f. angew. Psychol., 12, 

gs 

(296) Cf. Biihler, GE, pp. 208-9; Stern, Sp, pp. 155, 269. 

4297) GE, p. 17 ff. AG, p. 50 ff. 

(298) I, p. 13 (10). 

(299) I, p. 193 (176). 

(300) Preyer, II, p. 12. 

(801) Cf. Thorndike, AZ, p. 89 f.; and Chas. S. Berry, “‘ An 
Experimental Study of Imitation in Cats,” Jour. of Compar. 
Neurol. and Psychol., 18, 1908, p. 24. 

(302) Cf. Morgan, p. 168 ff.; Stern, PsdK, p. 48; Groos, SK, 
p. 52; Thorndike, EP, p. 108 ff. 

(303) Cf. with this and with what follows, Stern, PsdK, p. 47; 
Sp, p. 148 ff.; and J. Mark Baldwin, Mental Development in the 
Child and the Race, New York, 1895. 

(304) Cf. Preyer, I, p. 90; Stumpf, Tonpsychologie, I (1883), 
p. 293 f. ; II (1890), p. 553 ff. 

(305) Cf. Preyer, II, p. 257. 

(306) Stern, Sp, p. 153. 

(307) Claparéde, p. 142. 

(308) In the meaning of Koéhler’s book, PAG. 

(8309) C£. Moore, p. 18. 

(810) A confirmation of this principle is found in the behaviour 
of Stumpf’s son who suddenly repeated four short prayers correctly 
and “ almost faultlessly ’’ after he had been speaking only his own 
language for years with never a word of the mother tongue. ‘“‘ That 
he should utter the words almost faultlessly after talking a strange 
language, so to speak, up to this time, is certainly noteworthy,” 
writes Stumpf. Cf. SpE, p. 22. 


373 


NOTES 


(311) Cf. with this the statements of Groos, PM, p. 286. 

(312) I, p. 176 (161). 

(313) Cf. Stern’s summary, Sp, p. 158 f., and with what follows, 
ibid., p. 175 ff. 


(314) GE, p. 374 ff.; and also simpler and clearer, I think, in 
AG, p. 58 f. 


) Cf. Stern, PsdK, p. 243; Sp, p. 178. 
(316) Op. cit. (cf. note 123), p. 17 ff. 
(317) GE, pp. 386-7. 
(318) AG, p. 59. 
(319) Cf. also Sully, pp. 76-7. 


(820) Cf. Lévy-Bruhl, pp. 407 ff., and 198 ff.; also a similar 
observation upon children by Sully, pp. 76-7. 


(321) Moore, p. 125; Stumpf, SpE, p. 25. (The italics in this 
quotation are mine). Cf. also Sully’s remarks upon ‘‘ colour-hearing ”’ 
in children, p. 33 f. 


(322) Stern, Sp, p. 172 f.; cf. also among others, Preyer, II, p. 
86, and Moore, pp. 140-1. 


(823) GE, p. 375; AG, p. 59. 
(324) Moore, p. 123. 
(325) Sp, p. 172. 


(326) Cf. G. von Wartensieben, Die Christliche Persénlichkeit in 
Ideaibild. Kempten and Miinchen, 1914, pp. 2-3 (note). 


(827) Stumpf, SpE, p. 6 ff. 
(328) Sully, p. 30. 


(329) Op. cit. (cf. note 259), p. 600 ff.; cf. also Bihler, GE, p. 
5 ff. 


Nee 


40 
(830) Compayré, II, pp. 41-2. 
(331) GE, p. 222. 
(332) GE, pp. 396-7; AG, p. 143 ff. 


(333) M. Wertheimer, ‘‘ Uber das Denken der Natiirvélker. 
I. Zahlen und Zahlgebilde,’”’ Zeitschr. f. Psychol., 60, 1912. 


(334) Op. cit., p. 329. 

(335) GE, p. 195. 

(336) Sp, p. 250. 

(337) Wertheimer, op. cit., p. 327. 


(338) Stern, Sp, pp. 428-9. The procedure is quite analogous 
in other languages. 


(339) Sp, p. 251. 


NOTES TO CHAPTER VI 


(340) Cf. Biithler, GE, p. 310. 

(341) pp. 38, 47. 

(342) Sully, p. 30. 

(343) Lévy-Bruhl, Introduction and chapter I, K. Th. Preuss., 
“ Die geistige Kultur der Naturvélker,’’ Aus Natur. u. Geisteswelt, 
Nr. 452. Leipzig and Berlin, 1914. 


374. 





. 
. 
f 
4 


——_ 


NOTES 


(344) Cf. Volkelt, pp. 26, 43. 

(845) GE, p. 389. 

(346) Cf. Preyer, II, p. 197 ff. Cf. also the reports on chim- 
panzees which Kohler has recently published, showing how they 
behave’ before a mirror. (‘‘ Zur Psychologie der Schimpansen,”’ 
Psychol. Forschungen, 1, 1921, p. 35 ff. English translation, The 
Mentality of Apes, in this library). 

(347) pp. 96, 80. 

(348) PsdK, p. 250. 


(349) Reported by Lévy-Bruhl, pp. 59, 62, 124f. The citation 
is from p. 127. 


(350) PM, p. 387f. This whole book is pertinent to the ques- 
tions under discussion, pp. 380 ff., 385 ff.; cf. further PA, p. 287 
ff.; SK, p. 205; Biihler, GE p. 310; Stern Psdk, p. 181 f. 


(351) P. 48. 

(352) SpE, pp. 18, 22, 16. 

(353) Else Roloff: ‘‘ Vom religidsen Leben der Kinder,” Arch. f. 
velig. Psychol., 2-3, 1921, p. 194 f. 

(354) PM, p. 387. 


(355) As Groos remarks, Spencer had already expressed the same 
idea, though Groos came to his theory independently of Spencer. 
CEPMe pr siat. se Si) pa Olt. 


(356) Groos, PA, p. 1 ff.; PM, p. 361 ff.; SK, p. 64 ff. 
(357) GE, p. 434. 


375 





INDEX 


Aall, A. : 233, 370 

Abderhalden : 359 

“absolute ’’ choice : 141, 216 

absolute magnitude: 284, 286, 
289 

accommodation of the eyes: 71, 
79, 146, 285 

Acher, R. A. ; 361 

achievement, problem of: 152, 
I8I, 204, 238, 301, 302 

achievement-test : 25, 32, 33 

adornment, instinct of : 43, 114, 


II5 
adult-world : 345, 346, 349, 359, 
2 


35 
after-image : 289, 359 
age-data: 50 
anencephalic infant : 126, 150 
animal-experiments : 167, 318 
animal-psychology : 2, 3, 12, 19, 
22, 137, 155, 308, 360 
animal-stupidity : 163 
animism : 339 
anthropomorphism : 22 
anticipation : 253, 256, 263, 271, 
272, 305 


apparent magnitude: 285-7, 
289 

arrangement-method: 269, 270, 
273, 278 


association : 127, 128, 132, 133, 
155-7, 165, 173, 215, 216, 223, 
230, 231, 235, 236, 246-8, 261, 
286, 287, 311, 328, 363, 370 

associative mechanism: 206, 
207, 210, 211 

atavism: 44 

attention: 193, 194, 202, 206, 
226, 251, 259-61, 300, 302 

attraction (instinctive) : 
I2I 

audition : I21 

auditory nerves: 82 

auditory perception : 26 

auditory stimuli: 82, 83 

autonomic system: 23 

avoidance (instinctive): 110, 
118, 121, 145, 218, 242, 341 

axis-cylinder: 53 


110, 


babbling : 310, 315, 317 

Babinski-reflex : 83, 84, 150 

background : 131, 209, 227, 228, 
242, 266, 299 

Baldwin, J. M.: 33, 310, 373 

Becher, E.: 108, 235, 236, 357, 
361, 370 

beginning-situation : 107 

behaviourism : 12-22, 27, 28, 91, 
359 

Bergson, H.: 364 

Berry, Gaon:m013,) 0145, 307.0905, 
318, 373 

Betz Winn 25903710373 

Binet, A.: 33, 34, 251, 261, 269, 
273, 277, 291, 292, 329, 371 

Binet-Simon Scale : 277 

biogenesis: 44 

“bond ’’: 92, 109, 123-5, 146, 
164, 215, 232-4, 246-8, 255-7, 

66 


3 

brainless child : 55-7, 65, 85, 86, 
126, 150 

Breed, F. S.: 250 

Brod, M., and Weltsch, F.: 136, 
323, 366 

Brunswig, A.: 223 

Bithler, K.z- 33, 35, 36, 61, 75, 
oho into TAR Sse ME ea a NGyoy 
160, 162, 182, 193, 206-14, 
221, 223, 226, 230-2, 235, 237, 
255, 271, 272, 286, 295, 296, 
299, 300, 303-5, 319, 320, 323, 
324, 326, 327, 33°, 333, 340, 
354, 355» 357, 360-3, 365, 


3 Bs) 
building-tests ; 186, 200, 204, 306 
Busse, Paula: 288, 370 


centrifugal fibres : 53, 54, 70 
centripetal fibres : 53, 54, 70 
cerebellum : 23, 58, 59 
cerebrum : 23, 55, 65, 126 
Cermak, P.: 63 
Cermak and Koffka: 361 
chained reflexes : 90-7, 108 
chance : 199, 200, 202, 203, 205, 
207, 219, 220, 232, 233, 256, 
262 


377 


INDEX 


chance-discovery : 207, 211 
chance-hypothesis : 203 
chance-insight : 203 
chance-solution : 181, 219 
chaos-theory : 133, 134 
child-diaries : 31, 32, 360 
child-world : 336, 345, 346, 349, 
35°, 353 
children’s drawings : 295 
“ chimpanzee-age ”’ : 361 
choice-training : 216, 232, 273, 
283, 287 
circular activity : 310 
clang-analysis : 226, 369 
Claparéde, E.: 34, 36, 41, 46, 
312, 357, 361, 372, 373 
cleanliness, instinct of : 114, II5, 
“closure”? : 97, 98, 103-8, 205, 
218, 231 
collective apprehension : 233 
colour: 140, 227, 228, 264-72, 
274-6, 278, 279; 281-3, 285, 
287 
colour-blindness : 275 
colour-names : 268, 275-9, 281 
** colour-weakness ”’ : 268, 280 
comparative psychology: 2, 3, 
13, 14, 91, 153 
Compayré, G.: 36, 258, 284, 
329, 357, 363, 371, 372, 374 
compulsory imitation : 316, 317 
conduction-unit : 95 
configural function: 216, 221, 
222.9227, 01220,1230, 0237) 82Os, 
297 
configuration: 131, I32, 137, 
140-2, I44, I7I, 193, 196-8, 
200, 201, 203, 205, 206, 209, 
210, 213-7, 221-4, 226-8, 
230-4, 237, 239, 243, 246, 248, 
249, 257, 261-4, 267, 268, 
272-5, 280-3, 285, 287, 289, 
290, 292-4, 296-301, 303, 306— 
TO, 312-7, 321-3, 327-33, 
341-4, 351, 352, 356, 369 
consciousness: 10, 13-7, 19, 21, 
22-30) e870. 22, ELZOWmL2 On rs re 
132, 134, 136, 146, 177, 241-3, 
246, 258, 261, 262, 348, 356, 
359, 360 
““constancy-hypothesis ”’ : 271 
constancy of colour: 295, 297 
constancy of form: 295, 297 
constancy of magnitude: 287, 
288, 295, 297 
“ constellation ”’ : 247 
convergence of the eyes: 52, 71, 


285 


convergence- saa? t oa 359 

Cornelius, H.: 368 

corpora quadrigemina : 74 

corpus callosum : 54 

correspondence-theory : 46, 48 

cortex: 23, 54-7, 64, 66, 86, 121, 
362 

counting : 332, 334, 335 

crying : 60, 74, I15, 118, 316 

Dahl: 97 

Darwin : 2, 45 

Decroly and Degand: 333 

descriptive concepts: 8, 10, 12-4, 
16, 18, 21, 28-30, 360 


detour-board : 187, 201, 202, 305. 


detour-experiment : 305, 306 

Dewey, J.: 4 

diaries (child) : 31, 32, 360 

displeasure : 156, 159, 242 

Dittmers, F.: 369 

double-stick experiment: 185, 
198-200, 202, 204, 216-8, 
229, 355 

Driesch, H.: 364 

drill: 156, 303, 308 

Dvorak : 311 


ear: 365 

ear-reflexes : 82 

Ebbinghaus, H.: 361 

Eberhardt, M.: 369 

echolalia : 311 

Edinger, L.: 23, 24, 54, 55, 65, 
357, 360, 361, 363 

Edinger and Fischer: 56, 65, 85, 
86, 126, 361 

eidetic disposition : 245 

eidetic image: 245, 288, 289 

emotion: I9, 20, 102, 116-8, 
316, 321, 343 

empiricism: I, 51, 52, 72, 74, 
76, 78, 81, 82, 297 

end-situation : 102, 103, 105-7, 
172, 207, 211, 364 

entelechy-character : 361 

ethnological parallels : 292 

expectancy : 239, 240, 243 

experiential observation: I1—4, 
16, 17, 24, 25, 28-30 

experimental psychology: 2, 3, 
25, 32, 129 

‘‘ expression ”’ : 291, 292, 343 

expressive movements: I1I5-9, 
126 

eye-movements: 14, 60, 63, 64, 
71-82, 96, 109, IIO, 147, 255, 
256, 285, 359, 362, 363 

eye-reflexes : 71 


378 


ee ae eee ee | 


INDEX 


fabrication of tools: 185, 197 

facilitation : 69, III, 157, 233 

familiarity : 240-3 

fatigue: 7, 8, 18, 25, 61, 67, 85, 
87, 130, 136 

fear : 44, 290 

feeble-mindedness : 33, 34 

» figural core : 322, 323 

figure and ground: 365 

field of vision: 76, 80, 284, 285 

fixation, visual: 71, 73, 74, 76-9, 
81, 82, 256 

Flechsig : 121 

flicker : 62 

folk-psychology : 2, 49, 135, 324, 
338, 339, 351 

form, constancy of: 295, 297 

form, perception of: 285, 289, 


294 ib Ce: 
“fortunate variations”: 177, 
199 
fovea centralis : 71, 75-7, 81 
“‘ free’ images : 243 
free nerve-endings : 22 
Friedrich: 334 
friendliness : 134, 135 
functional concepts : 
16, 18, 29 
* functional pleasure ” : 355 
fusion : 62, 63, 362 


7-12, 14, 


Garbini: 270, 274 

Gaupp, R.: 36 

520351372 

Gelb and Goldstein : 371 

Gildemeister, M.: 361 

Goldstein, K.: 372 

“ good ” errors: 204 

grasping: 84, 145, 147, 251-6, 
263, 267, 272, 303, 304, 341 

Groos, K.: 36, 309, 314, 344, 
348, 352, 354, 355, 357, 361, 
364, 379, 372-5 

Gullstrand : 362 

habit: 108, 113, 125, 159, 160, 
230-3, 236, 237 

Haeckel, E.: 44 

Hall, G. S.: 43-5 

hearing : I2I, 122, 310, 311 

Heine, Rosa: 248, 371 

Memholiz.s avis bs 72; 
286-8, 362, 363 

heredity : 38, 51 

Hering, E.: 72, 73, 79, 271, 282, 
362, 363 

Hillebrand, F, : 224 

hind brain: 23 

Hobhouse, L. T.: 160 


226, 


Holden and Bosse: 266, 371 
Holmgren test : 269 
Homer: 2 

horopter : 80, 363 

Hume, D.: 298 
Humphrey: 311 

hunger : 130, 135 


ideation : 211 

ideational behaviour : 149 
ideational learning : 319, 320 
idiocy : 55, 86 

ideo-motor law: 314, 315 
illusion: 346, 348, 353 


image: 206, 212, 224, 241-5, 
puaths 348 
imitation: 42, 258, 307, 309, 


311, 312, 314-9 
impulsive movements: 66, 67, 
_ 735.74 ‘ 
individual differences: 165, 189, 

237 
infant-prodigies : 49 
Ingelow, Miss: 338 
inhibition : 69, III 
inner ear: 365 
insight: 155, 164, 175-7, 179- 

OL, p20L «202,207 W2TO, -2iir: 

214-9, 220, 229, 230 
instinct: 43, 87, 90-II5, 125, 

14:55, 0505 1157; 200, 200, -211, 

215, 218-20, 229-32, 235-7, 

239, 257, 263-5, 307, 309, 312, 

313 
“instinct to conform ”’: 312 
intelligence: 14-6, I9, 92, 99, 

140, 144, 164, 168, 169, 180, 

201, $202,07210;) 215-7, © 220: 

229-32, 236, 237, 239, 262, 

263, 304, 306, 308, 318, 364 
introspection : II, 221 


Jacobson, M.: 372 

Jacnsch; (ROaR. 2) 229, 223=5; 
245, 283, 288, 368-70, 372 

James): Wii), (94, "110; 
114, 249, 314, 357, 363 


Kafka, G.: 357, 359 

Kantor, I. R.: 365 

Kate D3) 282) 283,°205,4372 

Katz and Révész: 366 

Koffka, K.: 369 

Kohler, W.: 19, 33, 43, 79, 104, 
TOS BIOO, stT 4; ELS 117) LIA; 
134, 138-40, 167, 174, 179-82, 
184, 189, 192, 193, 198, 199, 
202-7, 210-23, 226, 232, 233, 
230.7209) 203,55 278, eeos,12o7) 


it3, 


379 


INDEX 


304-7, 310, 318, 319, 355, 357, 
359, 360, 362-9, 371, 373, 375 
Kroh, O.: 370 
Kiihn, A. : 233, 370 
Kiilpe, O. : 360 


language: 246, 247, 265, 319, 
320, 324, 329, 339, 349, 350 

laughing : 115 

law of association : 246, 247 

law of configuration : 206, 228, 
315 

law of effect : 162, 166 

law of exercise : 159, 162, 164 

law of frequency : 159, 161, 166, 
234 

law of recency: 159 

law of reproduction ; 310 

Lazarus: 355 

learning: 39, 41, 44, 52, 76, 78, 
82, 122, 124, I4I, 150-2, 158— 
60, 162, 164, 166, 173, 174, 176, 
LU 7 mLOO LS 2 LO wm 23018233, 
234, 236, 238, 241, 250, 255, 
257-63, 270, 274, 280, 287, 302, 
303, 319, 320, 343, 354, 395, 
369 

learning by imitation: 309, 317, 
318 

learning-curve : 168, 232 

Lévy-Bruhl, L.: 338, 339, 358, 
366, 373-5 

Lewin, K.: 234, 303, 370, 373 

Lindworsky, J.: 210, 215, 217- 
21, 223, 229, 368 

Links Hy '@. 2364. 

Linke, P. : 369 

localization of sound: 82 

locomotor ataxia: 147 


McDougall, W.: 102, 112, 174, 
307, 358, 364, 365, 369 
magnitude, constancy of: 

288, 195, 297 
magnitude, perception of : 285 
Major, D.: 329 
Major and Lindner: 333 
Marina, A.: 363 
material relations ; 207-10, 217, 

218, 232 
maturation: 38, 39, 41, 64-6, 

76, 122, 150, 151, 249-51, 263, 

264, 275, 285, 287, 297, 363 
mechanical learning : 232, 234 
mechanistic theory: 108, 109, 

162, 169 
medulla oblongata : 23 
medullation : 57 


287, 


membership-character : 246 

MEMOry £1°7.19, LOw20, 25,087. 
I51I, 152, 206, 207, 211-3, 233, 
230,8235, 5230, 241, e242 mena 
248, 259, 264, 274, 282, 283, 
296, 297, 368 

memory-colours : 282 

Mmemory-images : 240, 241, 244 

mental age: 277 

method of arrangement: 265 

method of “ evolution ”’ : 291 

method of preference : 265, 266 

method of training : 265 

Meumann, E. : 270, 274 

mid-brain : 23 

mirror-writing : 293 

Moore, K. C.: 318, 325-7, 358, 
362, 366, 373, 374 

Morgan, C. L.: 93, 102, III-3, 
156, 166, 307-9, 358, 361, 
363-5, 367, 373 

motion-pictures : 362 

motor adaptation: 260, 261 

motor fibres: 53 

motor mechanism : 310, 364 

motor nerves : 23, 68, 70, 77 

motorium : 78, 80, 107, 145, 146 

movement-melody : 259-61, 308 

Miiller, G. E.: 248, 261, 369 

Miiller and Schumann: 260 

Miller, J.: 362 

multiple response’: 124 


Nagel, W.: 362 

name-question : 320 

naming: 270, 276-8, 290, 32I, 
322, 326-30, 335 

naming-age : 325 

naming-method : 264, 269, 270, 
273 

Mativism:/1,.'515)52, 727 307s 
78, 81, 82, 207 

natural-scientific method : 7, Io, 
Ll,al3, L7su2ON 21, 24 uz gue: 
30, 125 

near-space : 284 

Ne-encephalon : 23 

Neo-Darwinism : 45, 46, 48 

nerve-cells : 69, 70 

nervous system: 22, 23, 52, 67, 
69, 103, 106, 285 

nest-building : 88, 90, 99, 210, 
220, 364 

neurone: 54, 68, 70, 78, 92, 94-6, 


98, 103, 106, 109, 112, 123, 
125, 157, 309, 364 
““new’’ brain: 23, 52, 54, 55, 


57, 64, 65, 70, 150 


380 


INDEX 


**non-closure ’”’ : 103 
“non-thingness ’’: 323 
“ nothing ’’ : 207-9 


object-colour : 283 
odour: IIo 
“old ’’ brain: 23, 52, 54, 55, 57, 


64, 74 
olfactory lobes: 23 


one-word sentence: 320, 321, 
329 ‘ 

ontogenesis : 44-7, 57 

Ordahl, L. E.: 116, 260, 371 


orthogonal appearance : 295 
orthoscopic form : 296, 297 
Overtones : 226, 227 


ain : 120, I2I, 302, 343 
alz-encephalon : 23 
Parkinson : 348 
partial tones : 226 
pathway-hypothesis : 235, 256 
pecking) 37. .905,.107, 1 11,.112, 
250, 303 
Peiser, J.: 367 
perception : 63, 64, 72, 149, 156, 
r7O) LOL LOZ sa21T2—A4 0) 224) 
240-3, 245, 257, 259, 201, 264, 
282-5, 290, 293, 295-9, 301, 
309, 312-4, 316, 322, 338, 340, 
362 


perception of form: 
294 

perseverative tendency : 178 

personification : 338 

Peters, W.: 34, 276-83, 372 

phenomena: 8, 13, 17, 30, 31, 
79, 82, 102, 119, 128-31, 133-7, 
140, 142-6, 148, 149, 171-3, 
D7 peeOoe 209, 221, 222,) 225; 
226, 236, 238, 240, 242, 243, 
ZOGNe 720 202,207, 292, 294; 
295, 320, 342, 343, 348, 356, 


285, 289, 


photo-tropism : III 

phylogenesis : 45-7 

physical configuration : 236, 369 

** place-analysis ”’ : 177, 196 

plantar reflex : 83, 84, 150 

plasticity : 122-5 

play : 45, 336, 338, 344, 346, 348, 
359, 352-5 

plaything : 337, 346, 350 

play-world : 349, 352 

pleasure: 156, 159, 
265, 327, 355 

practice-curve : 262 

pre-lingual period: 322 


160, 219, 


pre-numerical constructs : 332-5 
Preuss, Ke Po 2h '3305 374 
Preyer, W.: 35, 65, 66, 82, 85, 
GO, 110; L1G) 119) 7120,) 126, 
£45 6 25150 254,203,1 200,271, 
300, 8510; #311) 316,320 e34 15 
342, 358, 362, 363, 371-5 
primitive drawings: 347 
primitive man : 339, 353 
primitive mind : 340, 352 
primitive peoples : 324, 325, 332, 
335, 338-40, 347, 348 
problem of achievement : 
181, 204, 238, 301, 302 
Prussian Academy of Science: 
180 
psychological atomism : 359 
psychological method : 29-31 
psycho-physical method: 25, 
28-30 
psycho-vitalism : 104, 236, 359 
pupillary reflex: 111, 112, 121 
pursing the lips: 118, 316 


152, 


puzzle-box experiment: 167, 
168, I7I, 174, 175, 183 
quality: 82, 131, 135-7, 141, 


142, 171, 209 
questionnaire-method : 45 


reaction : 232, 265, 284, 302, 303 

recapitulation: 44, 45, 48, 361 

recognition : 240, 244, 248, 265, 
288, 290, 292 

“recreation ”’ theory : 355 

reflex : 68, 69, 71, 76, 78, 79, 81, 
82, 84, 86, 87, 90-2, 98, 100, 
103, 107, 108, I10, I12, 125, 
231 

reflex-arc : 69, 70, 92, 149 

reflex-arc theory : 93 

reflex-mechanism : 69, 77, 108 

reflex-system : 67-70 

religion : 350, 351 

remembrance : 238-40, 243, 244 

repetition : 233, 262, 322 

reproduction (imaginal) : 29, 213, 
214, 246-8, 276 

retina: 63, 71, 76, 81, 275, 284, 
294 

retinal image: 79, 97, 
285-7, 339 

Rhesus monkeys: 367 

rhythm of development : 49, 50 

Robinson, L.: 84 

Roloff, Else: 350, 351, 375 

Rothmann : 56 


225, 


381 


INDEX 


Rowe, BH. @.°372 

Rubin, E.: 359, 365 

Ruger, H. A.: 175, 177-9, 196, 
232, 259, 262, 307 


Scheler, M.: 135, 360, 366 
Schiller-Spencer theory of play: 


355 

Schliiter, L.: 248, 370 

Schumann, F.: 222 

Scupin : 301 

SElZ, ON a 47 E376 

sensation : 127, 128, 132-4, 136, 
L372 LAl AA 20D. e222 23. 
220,25 5p ehOvney len 270 200, 
282, 287, 297-9, 360 

sensation-theory : 139 

semse-organs : 22, 39, 53, 62, 71, 
83, 100, I20, 121, 339, 305 

sensitivity : 119-22 

sensori-motor learning : 302 

sensorium : 78, 80, 107, 145, 146 

sensory capacity : 271, 276 

sensory nerves : 22, 53, 68, 70 

Shepherd, W. T.: 367 

Shinn, M. W.: 82, 83, 133, 243, 
251-4, 256, 257, 263, 265, 260, 
269, 270, 271, 275, 289, 290, 
358, 363, 370-2 

skin-reflexes : 83 

smell: 86, 89, I21 

smiling : 118, 242, 291, 316 

Sollier : 86 

Soltmann : 61-5, 361 

speech: 247, 264, 265, 300, 310, 
372 

Spencer, H.; 91, 108, 375 

Spencer and Gillen : 347 

Spencerian theory : 97, 98 

Spengler, O.: 46 

spinal cord : 23 

stages of development: 230, 298, 


299 

Steffens, Lottie: 261 

Stern, Clara and W.: 37, 244, 
ZAG 25 Os 200, SO0MIO2O mse 7, 
333-5, 958,371, 373 

Stern, Hilda: 242, 247, 268, 291, 
321, 326, 335 

Stern, W. : 36, 42, 43, 48, 51, 52, 
66, 91, 109, 120, 242, 243, 275, 
234, 286, 288, 290, 292, 293, 
298-300, 307, 309-II, 318, 
320, 321, 344, 355, 358-61, 365, 
366, 370-5 

story-age : 244 

Stout, G. F.: 98-101, 366 

strangeness : 241, 243 


Stumpf, C.: 275, 311, 325, 328, 
349, 350, 358, 308, 360, 372-4 

| Stupid’ errors: 167, 171; ek 70s 
203, 204 

substance-stage : 300, 301, 321 

suckling: 24, 42, 84-7, 110, 127, 
251, 252 

Sully, J.: 36, 301, 337, 338, 342, 
343, 349, 358, 374 

“ surplus-energy ” theory: 355 

swimming : I5I 

symbolic method : 264 


Tabes Dorsalis : 147 

Taine, H.-%329 

taste : 120 

teleology : 355 

temperature : 120, 132 

tempo of development: 50 

Tenerife : 180 

tensor tympani : 365 

tests of intelligence : 233 

tetany : 61, 62, 64 

Thorndike, E. L.: 36, 37, 45, 48, 
66, 90-8, 102, 103, I12, I14, 
116, 117, 123-5, 153, 154, 156, 
157, 159, 161-70, 172-6, 181, 
192, 193, 199, 203, 206, 307-9, 


314, 316, 358, 359, 363-8, 
373 
thought-processes : 332 
thumb-sucking : 255 
tiIMe-curVe. y PTI7, 001 54; eens he 


163-5, 167, 168,176, 177, 203) 
232 
““ togetherness ’’ : 221 
““tone-body ”: 28 
tool, use of a: 186, 187, 
I9QI—4, 196, 197, 199, 207, 213, 
Oo 


305 
total situation : 170-3 
touching; 120, 13%; 147, 
252, 203 
training: 27, 138, 156, 157, 206, 
211; 210, 220.) 230. s28255onne 
263, 265, 268, 280, 283, 287, 
303 
training-theory : 228 
transfer of training: 


169-71, 
178, 192, 193 


“ transitional experience ’’: 173, 
222-9, 243, 369 

transitional situation : 102, 105, 
106, 172, 364 

transitoriness of instincts: 113, 
II4 


trial and error: 153, 155, 160, 
174, I8I, 200, 234-262 


382 





INDEX 


trigeminal nerve : 53 


tropisms : III, 112 
“‘unclosed ”’ response : 97 
“unclosed ’’ systems : 98 
unfriendliness : 134, 135 
unnoticed relations : 272 
unnoticed sensations : 368 


utility-theory : 45, 48, 66 


vagus nerve : 53 
Valentine, C. W.: 266, 371 
vision : 64, 72, 74, 147, 339 
vision, field of : 76, 80, 284, 285 
visual depth: 284, 285 

visual fixation: 71, 73, 74, 76-9, 


81, 82, 256 
vitalism ; 104, 364 
volition : 260, 321 
Volkelt H.: 218, 358, 365, 375 
voluntary action: 100, 108, 313 
Von. iKkries, [<3 235; 236,248; 


256, 262, 270 
Waldeyer: 54 


walking : 146, 147, 249-51, 305 
Wartensleben, G. v.: 374 
Watson, J. B.: 75, 76, 81, 91, 
157-9, 251, 252, 254, 302, 307, 
358, 360, 361, 365, 366, 371 
Weeping : 118, 291 
weight of brain : 58 
Wertheimer, M.: 79, 104, 236, 
292, 327, 332-5, 364-6, 369, 
371, 374 
Winch, W. H.: 
Witasek, Sees Oe 
Wittmann, yer 295, 296, 373 
Woolley, Helen T. : 271, 272 
word-sign method: 264, 


273 
Wundt, W. 


Pt 274, 371 


269, 
: 314, 361 


yawning : 309, 317 
Yerkes, KR. M. ¢ 233 
Yerkes and Bloomfield : 


114 


113, 


Ziehen, T.: 363 


PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY 
THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND II YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH 





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